#sea sparkle seems to not be an official common name?

[pearls-and-vignettes]

A pearl. Bright red in color; effervescently so. It contains multiple types of data from multiple sources. The first is an audiovisual transcript from a looking device. The next, a report, plainly formatted. The last, an audio transcript of an excerpt from a recorded council.

494.843 - FEED [AUDIOVISUAL]

A ROOM WITH A DISPLAY AT ITS FRONT AND FEW, LAVISH SEATS FACING IT. IT IS DIMLY LIT AND SPARCELY FILLED. A PERSON IS STANDING AT THE FRONT OF THE ROOM, TALKING TO THEIR AUDIENCE. THE DISPLAY SHINES DATA FROM AN AUDIOVISUAL FEED. ON THE DISPLAY, THREE FIGURES ARE SEEN IN A NARROW SPACE, SURROUNDING A DOOR, FROZEN. THEY ARE WEARING NONDESCRIPT GILT MASKS,

The case: intimidation of the population by fear of spiritual punishment is not a sufficient deterrent. We need physical force protecting our most sensitive insights and information. A solution: a force of people, strongly built and trained, protecting whatever needs to be harbored. I know that you, as counts or higher, do not wish to pointlessly expend your resources, but I believe that this is necessary expenditure. The following sequence is what will continue to occur, too often, if we leave our mechanisms unimproved.

THE FIGURES ON THE DISPLAY SPRING TO LIFE. TWO OF THEM HOLD INSTRUMENTS OF VIOLENCE WHILE ONE PLACES A VOLATILE COMPOUND ON THE JOINTS OF THE DOOR. THEY FLEE OUT OF SIGHT OF THE LOOKING DEVICE, RUNNING A CABLE TO THEIR PRESUMED LOCATION. THE VOLATILE COMPOUND DETONATES, AND THE THREE FIGURES RUSH IN.

Voting is to commence shortly.

[END OF FEED]

499.537 - REPORT

The statistics following the addition of the Third Internal Security Doctrine to our running list of effective protocols have been tabulated, and the greater Slivered Ashes Local Group Council near-unanimously agrees that its acceptance is a gross inaccuracy as a result, and recommends its repealment in all living blocks under its jurisdiction. The substantiation: while its implementation across the many jurisdictions across superstructures has gutted the resources of many programs (many complaints regarding nectar orders have reached our offices, among other, less savory concerns), it only seems to have lowered the rates of societal incongruencies by a third of a point since its implementation. Expect this judgement and the reasoning behind it to be soon explained in further depth, and a full report to be distributed to all commoners within the local group.

SIGNED - FIVE ROOTS, COUNTLESS GRANULES OF SOIL, OFFICIANT-RHETOR OF THE OFFICE OF THE SLIVERED ASHES LOCAL GROUP

503.702 - FEED [AUDIO]

TBAUNS: Speaking: I am Two-Bladed Axe, Undulations of the Sea, Count of 3 living blocks, Counselor of 5, Sub-Officiant of the Three-Spoked Wheel House of Independent Registrars, and I have come to present my case against Five Bars of Metal, Sparkling Skies Above, Count of 10 living blocks, Duke of 4. They suggested, behind closed doors, to a closed group of elites, that they should be given a great quantity of resources so they may subdue the recent trend of social incongruencies prevalent in their superstructure's community. These counts, dukes, and lords, all agreed to this proposal, surrendering their own resources so that a new house may be established; a new house whose one purpose is to intimidate the public with threats of physical violence. The members of this discreet gathering were unaware of the false pretenses under which Five Bars of Metal, Sparkling Skies Above presented their statement. Namely, a fabricated audiovisual feed presented as a genuine recording of one of the looking devices of their superstructure, Stalk Collapsing onto Leaves Below, as well as fabricated social incongruency statistics were used to present their case. I call upon this council to vote for the expulsion of Five Bars of Metal, Sparkling Skies from all positions of management and leadership of their living blocks, as their actions prove that they are subversive to the local group's community, and do not put their blocks' interests before their own. More information has been sent to your seats.

THSPES: Speaking: Thirteen Scales, a Pressed Sheet, Count of 13 living blocks, Counselor of 6, Duke of 12, and Lord of 4, Grand Arbitrator of the Grand Assembly of the Office of the Slivered Ashes Local Group. Voting will begin on this issue briefly. Please allow your panels a moment to warm up for this assembly's first round of voting.

[. . .]

THSPES: The resolution has passed. Five Bars of Metal, Sparkling Skies Above, Count of 10 living blocks, Duke of 4, will be stripped of all currently mentioned titles. This resolution may be next challenged on 513.702. The assembly will move to the next issue briefly.

[END OF FEED]

[sahbibabe]

The Fiction of Love

The Fiction of Love

Soulmate AU: Where whatever your soulmate writes on their skin appears on yours.

Genesis Rhapsodos/Fem! Reader

In which you finally meet the source of the daily recitations of Loveless on your arm: Genesis Rhapsodos.

IT STARTED LIKE everyone else's soulmate experience─the writing appeared one day, out of the blue, on the skin of your forearm like a tattoo. They were always quick to fade, the magical ink devoured by your body's immune system, but they lingered long enough for you to notice them.

And, weirdly enough, the first words your soulmate wrote to you were the words of a poem. Whoever they were, they wrote in an amazingly talented hand, the calligraphy putting your awful, cramped words to absolute shame.

'Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess,' they wrote on your arm that morning,'we seek it thus, and take to the skies.'

From then on, every day since then, you would be sure to find phrases of that poem written somewhere on your body. On your arms, forearms, hands, knees, legs, but the most common was always the inside of your wrist, written there as if it was some secret, some thrilling note that you could look at when no one was around.

You hated it.

Unlike the rest of the women in your office building, you despised that poem─and the play─with every fiber of your being. It was one thing to hear it every day at work, brought on by the cooing assistants who fawned over the main male leads of the play and lusted for their numbers. But to be hounded by it even as you relaxed at home, unable to forget those damned words because they appeared on your skin almost every hour on the dot?

It was ridiculous.

Your spite had extended to your replies to your soulmate, so much so that you never replied at all once your hatred took hold of you. It had been nearly two months since you had stopped, six months since they had started to begin with, and yet your soulmate soldiered on, leaving the little phrases for you to find─in obvious spots, none of them ever inappropriate─and going on with whatever they did for a living.

It had to have been something time and attention consuming, because the one time you wrote back, drunk during mid-day, you didn't get a reply until well after twelve in the morning. You had just wrote, pretty awfully,'Why Loveless?' and passed out on the couch, dead to the world.

You woke up right in the middle of the reply appearing on your skin as they wrote it, the curls of their handwriting fascinating as every whorl and slash bloomed upon your arm like wicked black flowers.

'Why not Loveless?' They had replied.

Needless to say, the irritation had rose up as you had expected it to, and you pulled a hoodie on for the rest of the night to hide your arms from your line of sight. If you would have pulled up your sleeve just a bit then, you would have caught the extended reply that they added on to it.

'I'm just joking. Why Loveless? Because it is a truth; it is deliverance. It is a meaning.'

Unfortunately for you, the ink had been devoured long ago and replaced with another Loveless stanza, this one a little bit longer than the others they had written for you… and not at all part of the official poem.

'Even if the morrow is barren of promises

Nothing shall forestall my return

To become the dew that quenches the land

To spare the sands, the seas, the skies

I offer thee this silent sacrifice.'

It was then, staring at your arm as you stood in front of your office copier, the glow of the mako reactor shining upon your skin, that you realized this poem was much more than a means to annoy you. This was their passion, their joy, their hobby, all wrapped into one poem.

You made a decision then.

You booked the tickets, the priciest seats you could afford, rented out a modest but elegant dress for the evening, and made a reservation at a nice restaurant just across the street from the theater, even more pricey than the tickets.

'Theater #2, front steps, 8:30 P.M. Dress nice. Don't be late.'

That reply had been instantaneous.

'I wouldn't dream of it.'

The date set and your dress hanging comfortably in your closet, you began wondering what your soulmate looked like. Could you pick them out of a crowd? Or were they plain and unassuming, able to blend in easily, like camouflage?

You asked them, just to be sure.

'What do you look like?'

'Let's leave that as a mystery. I'm sure I'll be able to find you.'

Stumped, you stared at your arm with wide eyes, before scratching through your question and doodling a smiley face with the tongue sticking out of the side.

'Not if I find you first.'

'I look forward to the challenge.'

By the time the date rolled around and you were dressed and waiting by the steps of the theater, you were so nervous you could throw up. You were a little early and tried to settle your nerves with a small can of soda, but all that succeeded in doing was making the butterflies worse. You were lucky they had even agreed to the meeting in the first place; some people just never got that chance. And that didn't guarantee you would even get along, did it?

After a few minutes of failing to calm yourself down, you got on your phone and scrolled through the new ShinRa announcements, eager to take your mind off of the wrecking ball going off in your stomach. It only helped a little bit.

And then, something odd happened; like the proverbial red sea, people parted for someone walking through the crowd at a leisurely pace, except the 'red' was a man, and not a sea at all. Just from your distance, he was gorgeous, with russet red hair and mako green eyes that sparkled under the fluorescent lights.

Whoever got him as a soulmate had earned the jackpot, you thought wordlessly to yourself, watching as the crowd continued to part for him. Really, really lucky.

Then you realized, belatedly, like a sucker punch to the gut, that he was headed your way, those insanely green eyes trained on you with the focus of a predator. It was suddenly very hard to breathe, your lungs constricting at the disbelief in your mind, your phone very heavy in your hand.

There was no absolute way in hell--

"I told you I'd find you," he said with a smooth grin. His voice was like honey, rich and smooth with all of the right cadence, and sat right in your stomach like molten gold. You swore if you weren't so awe struck that you would have teetered back and fainted right then and there. "I win."

"I guess so," you replied faintly, barely a whisper. He seemed to acknowledge the effect he had on you because his eyes crinkled up just the slightest with a smirk that made you want to, quite literally, rip off that red leather jacket he wore and show him who was boss. "I'm [Name]."

"Genesis." You watched the emerald earring he had in his ear dangle and catch the lights, adding to his features spectacularly. "Are you ready to go inside?"

You had to stop yourself from sounding too eager. Your plans had went from having a nice time at a play, to dinner, and parting your separate ways and straight to watching a play, having dinner, and hopefully taking him back home with you if he was willing. "Yes, please."

Genesis smiled and tucked your hand into his elbow, like a gentleman--you could feel your face growing as hot as coals--and escorted you up the stairs, careful not to let you trip and fall. As you walked with him to the stands to give the doorman your tickets, you noticed that he didn't exactly walk with the awkwardness of a normal person. His gait was smooth, fluid, elegant and refined, as if someone had drilled him to always be light on his feet. Add that to the sword you could feel at his side and the beautiful green eyes, and you knew you had a SOLDIER for a soulmate.

"You're a SOLDIER?" You asked quietly as you entered the quiet zone of the play stage.

He chuckled lightly. "What gave it away?"

"Let's see… Other than the sword and the way you carry yourself?" You teased, stomach jolting when he moved his hand to the small of your back to urge you towards your seat. "Your eyes. I've never seen such a concentrated color before."

"Yes, the tell tale sign of mako energy," he lamented, if only to earn a laugh out of you. "But yes, I am a First Class SOLDIER."

Your head turned so quickly that you were sure your neck would have snapped. "First Class? And you're here with me, not on some elite mission?"

"Of course." He blinked, tilted his head, and furrowed his eyebrows as if he was the one who should be confused. "Why would I turn down the chance to see Loveless with a goddess such as yourself?"

Oh, you felt the heat now, curling down your spine like a snake and he the charmer. It should have been cheesy, given the situation and his love for a poem mentioning such a goddess, but for some reason, it wasn't, and it made goofy feelings rise in your chest, along with understanding.

It was more than just a poem.

He grinned when you brought your pamphlet up to fan yourself, leaning back in your chair and mumbling,"Let's just watch the play, okay?"

Genesis was, thankfully, tame during the entire thing. He was just as absorbed into it as you were, those pretty green eyes taking in the play actors with relish, and absentmindedly stroking his leather clad thumb over your knuckles as if it was natural to him.

When the play was over, the actors gave out cute silk flowers as a souvenir, thanking everyone for their attendance and citing their next performance as sometime next week.

Dinner, you came to find out, was fair game for Genesis.

Not only did he pull some strings behind your back to pay for it himself, he also switched your reserved table to the most secluded one in the entire building: the Elite floor where only people like Rufus Shinra dined and held their meetings and drank fine wine.

There were only three other tables on the floor, each one hosting a couple, and the room was dark, barely lit by glowing red lanterns as a centerpiece. Clearly it was a popular spot to be wooed.

You caught envious stares from the waitresses, a few offering you winks and a thumb's up, as you made your way up the stairs, Genesis behind you and making sure you didn't fall. You half guessed he was also in it for the view as well.

When you were seated and left to order your food, Genesis spoke up.

"So, you know what I do for a living, but you have yet to tell me anything about yourself." He propped open his menu and looked over it to you.

"Well… There isn't much to say." You shrugged and focused on trying to undo the straps of your heels with your feet, feeling your toes ache with the added height. "I'm a bit boring compared to you."

"I digress," he hummed,"but go on."

"I work in an office building for twelve hours a day," you deadpanned, much to his amusement. "It's boring."

"Allow me."

Confused, you opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but all of the breath left your lungs once again when his fingers wrapped around your ankle and unbuckled the straps to your heels with nimble fingers. He took his time, sliding his palm up your leg to take a hold of your calf as he removed the shoe from your foot.

Relieved from the pressure of your shoes, you let out a pleased sigh, but when you looked back across the table at him, those green eyes were glittering dangerously, trained on your face for a solitary second before getting to work on the other shoe.

You couldn't help the sudden heat rising in your belly. That look alone had made you tingle.

Before he could open his mouth and say something that would probably make you forego dinner plans entirely and drag him back to your house, the waitress came back, sheepish, and took your orders.

When you finished ordering--a salmon filet drizzled with soy sauce and wine--Genesis was busy studying you, watching you toy with the strap of your dress nervously.

Unfortunately, he never did make any more moves on you for the rest of dinner, but your stomach was glad for that because every time he looked at you even slightly, you would feel food get lodged in your throat.

You spoke well into the morning hours, getting tipsy enough that Genesis had to carry you all the way back to your apartment because the cabs weren't running that late. He was amused, if anything, and laughed whenever tried to come on to him, slurring sweet promises in his ear.

Every time, he would say,"Perhaps later when you're not so drunk."

"If not now, when?" You whined pathetically, leaning against your door as he picked the lock, unwilling to take the plunge down your bra to retrieve the keys.

"Soon," he said, his voice full of dark promise, enough that your alcohol addled mind could make out the desire in his voice like an arrow to the heart. "Soon."

He left you with just that promise, vanishing down the hall and into the night.

You remembered the look on his face, the tone of his voice, even when you woke up, and took maybe five seconds before you were yanking a pen out of your nightstand and writing on your arm.

'Now?"

A few seconds passed, then three minutes. And there it was, written in his elegant penmanship: your answer.

'3:40 P.M. Don't be late.'

[cordoniantrash]

the seas within me

Hello one and all! There’s my day 4 submission for the Choices 12 Days of Fictmas (It’s my 2nd year doing this! Can you believe?!) . Huge thanks to  @leelee10898​ and @emichelle​ for hosting this year and to  @grenadineandsunshine​ for betaing this one (along with all my works here tbh)! 

Title from Notos by The Oh Hellos. Here’s some angst I guess?

Book: Distant Shores

Pairings: Oliver x f!MC

Rating: G

Warning: none

Words: 2770

It was snowing when they arrived. The rising sun at their back had splashed colour on the white piles of freshly fallen snow at their feet while the distant sea breeze froze them in place. Claire felt something tug at her heart. There was something about this place, an almost indescribable tingle, a feeling of a feeling, which reminded her of him. She felt like she could close her eyes and find him there. It was absurd. They haven’t even had the chance to spend a winter together. All her memories of him, of them, are tethered to the waves, the ever present salt in the air and the unrelenting heat of the sun. So why can she almost hear his voice in this cold, snow-covered place?

“Huh. Expected something fancier.”

Claire felt the corners of her lips turn into a frown. It was becoming a steady companion in this hare-brained scheme. Her frown deepened when that indistinct tugging faded at the sound of his voice. It took some effort to unclench her jaw and her fist. To bite back the venom in her retort. It wouldn’t do to annoy him out of helping me. And so, stealing herself, Claire took a deep breath and repeated the mantra that began the moment she agreed to this plan.

Just until I get back.

Just until I find them again.

Find him again.

“What time’s that tour supposed to start again?” she asked instead. Robert, ignoring the too long stretch of silence between them, stepped into her line of sight. Claire carefully wiped her face clean of emotion. Uneasy allies they might be, but she’ll be damned if she let him glimpse a crack, however small. Being betrayed once was enough for her.

If only the compass worked like last time! Suppressing a sigh, she turned back to the estate. She’d been optimistic when they reached out to touch the compass. After all, all it took for her to travel that first time was a simple touch. The devastation when nothing happened nearly sent her to her knees in the middle of the museum.  It was only a slight consolation to find out that Robert had expected the same thing.

A breeze ruffled past them, the air fresh and bitingly cold. Claire rubbed her numb nose, her frown forgotten. At the corner of her eye, she saw Robert trying to hide his shivering. Claire suppressed a smirk.

Silence once again stretched between them. A bus full of students pulled up near their rented car. Claire couldn’t help but smile at the little faces peering from the windows, all of them bundled up despite the light snow. The adults with them did not seem to mind the cold as much. Tightening her hold on her hand warmer, Claire tried not to feel jealous.

Maybe we got used to the Caribbean. Too used. Man, I really want to go back.

“Well,” Robert sighed as a staff member opened the door of the estate. “Here’s to hoping, I guess.”

“D’you think this’ll work?”

Robert glanced at her. Claire took it as her queue to walk.

“His family had the compass before some descendant of his thought it’ll be a good idea to donate it to the museum. If there’s anything that can explain why it’s not working now, it’s probably here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Robert paused, letting the last of the children run past them. “All those records of you as a captain must mean we got back.”

Claire frowned, “And what about you?”

Robert’s profile seemed to blend with the snow clouds ahead.

“That’s what we’re here to figure out, isn’t it?”

**

Vice-Admiral Sir Oliver Francis Cochrane KCB (born c. 1722-24, Durham, England—died unknown) was an English naval officer most known for his short but successful maritime career where he had earned the moniker of “The Pirate Hunter” and his much speculated and scandalous personal life. Decades after his last known sighting, he had become a well-recognized literary romantic icon.

Despite his early moniker of “The Pirate Hunter”, Cochrane had occasionally worked with pirates, particularly with the crews of Captain Edward Mortimer and the much disputed Captain Claire Velis. Whereas association with pirates is enough grounds of treason, Cochrane retained his position and rose through the ranks of the navy for his work in exposing the crimes and treason of other naval officers, most notably, his own father Francis, often with the help of Mortimer, Velis and their pirate crew.

Excerpt from High Seas and Piracy: A History of English Maritime Advances 

**

The compass was silent.

Claire turned it over, as she had done again and again since she entered her hotel room. Robert had mumbled something about rum and a free bar before awkwardly hightailing out of the lobby. Claire felt too rung out to even think of a quip about pirates and alcohol.

The golden finish of the compass seemed to glow in the dark room, mocking her with the faint possibility of a return. Outside, the Christmas decorations glitter amidst the darkness and the sea breeze.

The tour hadn’t gone exactly as planned. For them, at least.

Not for the first time, doubt crashed and tumbled in her mind. Apparently there was a reason poets after his time found Oliver so fascinating. As someone who knew him, loved him, stayed and fought at his side, whose hands were stained with his blood—

Claire closed the compass with a snap.

Her heart felt heavy, an anchor dragging her down further into despair.

Charlie had made a name for herself, doing what she loves in freedom.

Charlie, who while being wily and nimble, ultimately could not outrun an empire.

Edward, doing more good and ascending into hero hood, depending whose side you ask.

Edward, who despite his strength and loyalty, was betrayed and handed over to the British.

Oliver, the successful navy officer. Loving father of two.

Oliver, who never got to rise to the ranks he deserved, who became a widower, ultimately becoming a figure of tragic romance, his final fate unknown.

All of them were shining brightly.

All of them doused before their time.

If I go back could I change things? Can I lift them up, move them forward? Or will they run aground because of me?

The edges of the compass dug into her hands, forming indents where hands softened by inactivity pressed into the compass’ sides.

Or will I just make things worse?

To return would mean chaos, but to stay where she was supposed to belong felt hollow.

Should she even go? Either way, it will turn her world inside out. She’d cause them all grief one way or another, the family she had in this present and the family she found back in time.

The tour guide’s words echoed in her mind:

“He left England a hero and an eligible bachelor to boot. Almost a decade later he returned a father of two small foreign looking children and claimed himself a widower. His ever loyal crew refused to shed light on what happened during those years at sea.”

Claire blinked. Tasting salt on her lips, she hastily wiped away the tears that splashed onto the compass.

Outside, the fairy lights continued to twinkle. Their rhythmic pulsing at odds with the raging sea within her.

What happened after I left?

**

Oliver Cochrane was a creature of contradiction. Of chaos, one might even say. On one side, he was an exceptional officer, a step away from becoming an Admiral before he mysteriously disappeared. On the other side, he was an excellent example of British hypocrisy.

Throughout his career, Cochrane toed the line between audacity and treason.

He had exposed numerous corrupt navy officials, while he also worked with pirates. What’s more, he had a rather well-known love affair with a pirate captain.

Records at that time proclaimed the affair short-lived, painting Captain Claire Velis in a rather unflattering light but contemporary evidence now opposes that idea and posits that the identity of his deceased wife (whom historians have precious few documents about) was none other than Captain Velis herself. Common consensus among society (and among historians) was that the mysterious mother of Cochrane’s children was the pirate captain herself. Further cementing Cochrane’s strange status in both 18th century Britain and in history.

This personal life aside, his apparent friendships with Captain Edward Mortemer and Captain Charlotte “Charlie” Smith was so prominent that one of the most salient theories to ultimate fate after his disappearance was that he himself became a pirate when he last left England’s shores, a contradiction to one so hailed for his honour and morals.

Excerpt from Cochrane: Behind the Myth

***

“Oh, hello dear.”

Claire turned and almost collided with a smaller figure. The tour guide from yesterday was standing in front of her. A glance at the pin on her blazer identified the older woman as Tina. In smaller letters under the name was the word CURATOR. Claire hastily stepped back.

The curator smiled.

“Aren’t you one of the people on the tour yesterday? The names Tina,” she said as she offered her hand. Claire found herself smiling as they shook hands.

“Uh, Claire Velis. Nice to meet you,” as soon as the words left her mouth, Claire felt herself freeze. Damn it! The hell was I thinking!

Tina’s eyes seemed to sparkle, “Claire Velis, you say? My, what a coincidence!”

Claire blushed.

“My parents were fans,” she mumbled.

“I’ll say!”

“Uh… yeah.”

“You must have loved the mention of your namesake then?”

Claire arranged her face into a smile.

“Right. Yeah. It was very interesting.”

“You know, I’ve always wanted to meet Captain Claire,” at Claire’s wide eyes, Tina let out a tinkling laugh. “Of course, I never thought it’ll be a namesake, but here we are. In fact, you look quite a lot like her drawings.”

Claire swallowed, “Is that so?”

Tina nodded, “Oh, would you like a cuppa? I noticed you were very interested in the tour yesterday. Besides, it’s almost the holidays,” she leaned in, smile growing. “We’ll have some tea and some mince pies as well! What do you say?”

“Oh! I wouldn’t want to impose –“

“Oh, pish posh! It’s no imposition at all, dear.  It isn’t often we get tourists here, you know what I mean? Usually it’s always field trips and the like. Sometimes academics, if we’re lucky. Besides, tea is just the thing when it’s this cold out. ”

Claire followed the curator inside the building, bewilderment and relief making her mind buzz.

As they passed by an open doorway, Claire felt something tug at her.

A familiar tug.

Claire stopped in her tracks.

The room looked similar to the public exhibitions, with glass boxes in pedestals displaying some artefact or another. The feeling, however, was leagues away from the public rooms.

It was tugging me here.

“Oh, what a lucky find!”

Claire jumped. Tina smiled as she leaned toward the doorway.

“It’s a special display, see? We’re going to show it to the public soon.”

“W-what’s in this one?”

Tina glanced at her, eyes twinkling again. “It’s a collection of Oliver Cochrane’s personal effects. Or what’s left of them. Would you like a peak?”

“I—are you sure?”

“Of course, dear,” Tina’s eyes seemed to droop. “Captain Claire may not have had the chance to see it. At least a namesake can. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 Throat suddenly dry, Claire offered a nod.

“Let’s go then!” Tina exclaimed as she entered the room.

Claire stepped forward.

The world seemed to blink.

“Claire? You alright? Hang on, I’ll call the nurse –“

“Wha—no, no, please. It’s fine.”

Tina’s eyebrows furrowed. Claire straightened, pointedly ignoring the twinge in her temples. The headache had taken her by surprise.

So different from the first time I travelled.

“—here, just sit down here for a moment.”

“I’m really fine—“

“Of course,” Tina smoothly interjected. The curator seemed to regain some composure. “But better safe than sorry, yes? I’ll get the nurse, dear. Be back in a jiffy.”

Claire sighed as Tina left the room, exchanging a couple of words with the security guard before waving back at Claire and rounding a corner.

Claire shook her head and looked around the room.

She froze.

There was a necklace inside the display in front of her (not the one she was currently wearing. The one that belonged to her grandmother). No, this necklace was obviously old and weathered besides. The shine of the silver peeking behind dark spots. The label under it calls it a Cochrane family heirloom.

And it was the same exact copy of the one hanging on her neck.

Except she wasn’t wearing this necklace when she travelled for the first time.

Outside, the waves crashed and crested. The snow kept falling.

Going forward will mean turbulent waters and uncertain winds.

But a ship cannot sail in becalmed waters.

Inside her, hope surged.

**

1752

“Will that work?”

“Well, we haven’t been twiddling our thumbs while you were off smooching with high society.”

“Charlie.” One word contained an entire conversation’s worth of chastisement. Charlie shrugged but fell silent.

Edward sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. But it seemed like the compass is lacking a catalyst of some sort.”

“A spark if you will.”

“That’s not a guarantee.”

“No. We’re groping in the dark here. But there has to be something that can work on this side.”

Oliver sighed. “I suppose it’s better than nothing.”

Charlie smiled, “That’s the spirit. We’ll get her back here yet.”

Oliver’s lips curled into a shadow of a smile.

**

The compass was humming.

Claire and Robert stand amidst a partially shattered exhibition room. Security alarms had just started blaring while some artifacts seemed to pulse with light. Beside her, Robert looked tense. But Claire felt calm. There seemed to be some form of energy in the room for the compass to actually come to life.

“Well. Here we are. Just in time for Christmas too.”

“Yeah. Whodathunk?”

“Certainly not me, Velis.” A particularly loud alarm blared. They both winced. “You ready?”

Claire took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

“… do it then.”

There was a flash of white light.

.

.

.

A moment later, the doors burst open. The staff looked around in shock and bewilderment. The room was in chaos, that much was clear.

But there was no one inside.

**

When I was younger, I used to pretend my mother was a mermaid. My older brother had indulged my fantasies and our imaginary mermaid mother would become a fixture in my make believe plays. On the days, months and years that bordered the beginnings of our fleeting visits and even shorter holidays, I, an imaginative child prone to wild fancies, would sometimes believe my own story. 

Before I understood what really was going on, I used to ask Father of her fate. He would humour me, a twinkle in his eye as he told me she was lost at sea, a romantic fate that contrasts with the pitying looks thrown our way when Father wasn’t looking. 

Perhaps it was one of his favourite sayings that stuck this particular fancy within me. After all, he always told Eddie and me that the sea was in our blood. My older brother, ever the man of reason, took that quite literally and followed in our Father’s footsteps, becoming a sailor as soon as he could.  Experiencing adventures that our parents surely had. Whereas I was content enough to experience adventure through the page, whether through my brother’s letters or my own pen. 

But sometimes, when I look out to the sea, I can’t help but wonder if there was any truth to my childhood fancies. But that probably is just sentiment talking. Father had always remarked that my stories should set foot on a stage of some kind, something that Aunt Adelia and Uncle Axton would heartily agree with. 

Over the years, I had often wondered at the irony of a navy officer’s daughter having pirates as aunts and uncles. An unforeseen consequence of being the Pirate Queen’s progeny, I’d imagine. 

Perhaps Mother was a mermaid masquerading as a pirate. Or perhaps it’s the other way around. 

All I know is that being lost at sea, for all its romance, does not quite fit my parent’s fate. 

I hope—no. I know—they must have found each other.

The sea is in our blood, after all. 

- Excerpt from the diary of Marcelline Somerset née Cochrane, Viscountess of Ashbourne

#

A/N: This surprisingly had a lot of number wrangling that didn’t make the text (rip my last braincell - don’t get me started on the research and the excepts). Also had a bit of a crossover with The Unexpected Heiress (haven’t played it yet). Anyways, lemme know what you guys think!

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[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 2: Chapter 3

Sic faciet nives. (It will snow.)

Tatsu wasn’t a fan of the food jokes Lin made, but he was most certainly a fan of joining the Cocytios expedition. In fact, he quickly took Lin’s place as the most excited to venture into unknown territory, and the entire time at the dinner table was filled with Tatsu’s grand stories of the legendary Heropon who lived there. She didn’t quite get to ask how he knew of Cocytios before they did, and yet Elma couldn’t help but be amused at some of the stories he recited. His enthusiasm was contagious! It was almost as if Pongo being in trouble was an afterthought.

But after dinner, that was all Elma could think about. She went to sleep thinking about him, she woke up thinking about him, she even thought of him as the MMC workers helped set her consciousness up in her old mim. Pongo, the boy she’d recruited onto her team, the boy who didn’t know how to speak until Vandham described the Interceptors’ role during his BLADE training. The boy who went on to become a powerful protector, who built a Free Hug Stand in the Commercial District, who would put himself in harm’s way to keep his friends safe without question. He was once a shy and awkward rookie who talked too much and thought every human being was beautiful. But nowadays, Pongo was confident, he knew himself and the world around him - quite literally. He could handle himself out there.

Yet Nessa’s mere existence proved he was in far more trouble than he’d ever been in before. And that scared Elma far more than she wanted to admit. 

She walked out of the MMC and immediately took a deep, cleansing breath. It wasn’t exactly weird, being back in her old mimeosome. In the beginning, returning to her original body felt like going back home after years of being away. Returning to her mimeosome now was like going back on vacation, a change of pace she didn’t know she needed after all this time. Mimeosomes didn’t need to worry about the same necessities that real bodies did. This would be important for Cocytios, and important for rescuing Pongo.

Elma quickly met up with Lin, Nessa and Tatsu outside of their barracks. Though they knew they wouldn’t be able to bring their Skells to Cocytios, it was decided they’d spare themselves the trouble of walking all the way to Primordia’s southern coast and opt to drive there instead. Lin had even managed to hook up their little yacht to her Skell and was fine tuning the hitch connecting the two when Elma approached. Nessa and Tatsu both watched, but didn’t make any move to help. Elma could only assume that at the very least, Nessa wasn’t as familiar with the technology. It was curious, how both of them looked on with the same sparkle in their eyes, the same childish wonder. She recalled Pongo having that same sparkle when he was first discovering the world and all its mysteries. 

Nessa was the first to spot Elma approaching, and she whistled softly. She was wearing new armor, too. The brogs matched Elma’s own, though Nessa’s pair were blue, and the rest of her armor was mismatched from various other apparel lines and arms manufacturers. What made Elma smirk was the fact that it was...okay, it wasn’t leaving much to the imagination. At least Nessa could dish out her interest in such things while accepting the style herself.

“All ready to go?” Nessa asked her.

Elma nodded once. “I believe so. Lin, how about you?”

“Just making some last minute adjustments, then I’ll be good!” Lin kept working, and the squeak of a bolt tightening under a wrench accompanied her response. “Our Skells are full of fuel, so that won’t be an issue for the drive. We’ll be parking near one of the bases, and I’ve already called ahead to let them know we’re coming soon. They’ve promised to keep watch over our Skells and make sure nothing bad happens to them!”

“And what about me?” Nessa prompted, “Will I have to ride with someone, or am I getting my own little plaything?”

Lin paused. “Do you...do you know how to drive a Skell?”

“Absolutely not. But there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“I don’t trust that for a second. You’re not hurting any of my - any of Pongo’s babies. He paid a lot of credits for these, y’know.”

“Oh come on, if there’s anything I remember of him, it’s that he’s loaded,” Nessa said, crossing her arms and pouting in dramatic fashion, “Shame Mira couldn’t create me with a couple thousand credits in my pockets, though.”

“If Nessa not have credits before, how did Nessa get credits for new armor?” Tatsu asked innocently.

Nessa winked. “I raided Pongo’s stash. You won’t believe how much armor he’s got stored away. It’s like he’s got a piece of armor for every monster he’s killed.”

Lin finally finished making adjustments to the hitch, and she bounced straight up, turning to face the others while wiping the sweat off her brow. “Alrighty, that does it! I’m ready to go when you are!”

“Tatsu excited!!” Tatsu cheered, “Winterland home of legendary Heropon! Tatsu can’t wait to meet him and ask about dadapon!!”

“Right, your father is also a...Heropon,” Elma recalled, “We’ll have to wait and see. For now, Nessa, you can ride with me if you want. I may not have an extra seat like Lin has for Tatsu, but there should be plenty of room for us both.”

“How could I say no to such a generous offer?” Nessa beamed, “Let’s head out, Team Elma! To Cocytios!”

Elma didn’t say anything when Nessa initially walked up to the wrong Skell - the Amdusias Hades belonged to Lin, a stronger hitting Skell that was well equipped and well handled under the Outfitter’s care. At first glance, it was the most powerful between the two Skells parked, and Nessa patted its leg with a confident smile.

“Um…” Lin was the one to break the illusion, “You know that’s my Skell, right? Elma’s is the red Verus Cain over there.”

A flash of confusion, quick glances between the two Skell models, and finally, Nessa’s apologetic smile landed on Elma. 

“Right, of course. Should’ve guessed by the unusually thematic coloring. Let’s get a move on, then!”

~

It was an uneventful drive to the coast, and the BLADEs maintaining the base camp were more than happy to keep watch over their Skells. Lin unhooked their yacht with ease, and with the help of the other BLADEs, they all managed to drag it into the ocean. From there, it was smooth sailing, and beautiful weather for it too. Lin handled the boat’s controls while Elma supervised and Nessa provided directions, but it wasn’t hard to get lost in the salty sea breeze, the warm sun that kissed Elma’s skin. She knew this bliss was temporary, as most things were, because Cocytios was supposed to be bitter and unrelenting. She was excited, of course, and she kept a keen eye out for any signs of land.

Yet it took them hours on the open sea before Nessa called out to them, pointing ahead. “I see it! We’re close!”

Lin squinted at that, trying to identify Cocytios’s coast. Lin and Elma both squinted, trying to make out the continent, and soon enough Elma saw distant shadows on the horizon. It was still a far ways off, but the shadows were tall and ominous, easy to spot once she put some effort into it. Mountains, she harbored a guess, and fairly tall ones at that. The closer the yacht got, the more Elma realized she was right. They were tall, snow-capped mountains that only seemed to grow taller and taller the closer they became. The tallest ones were even obscured by a layer of clouds, which were brimming with infant snowfall. But, to Elma’s surprise, she saw a familiar silhouette past the mountains. Were those…rings? 

“Nessa,” Elma called to Nessa, leaving Lin’s side to approach the edge of the deck, “The ring structures embedded into the mountains...they appear similar to those that we found in Oblivia. Do you know their purpose?”

“Oh, the Perceptis Automata?” Nessa spoke the name as if it were common knowledge, “Those were weapons used in an ancient war. It mainly took place in Oblivia, Sylvalum and Cauldros, but some fighting occurred here, too. Not enough to damage the ecosystem, mind you, but enough to leave behind evidence.”

“I see,” Elma pondered for a moment. She remembered something about this war, something that Pongo had mentioned during the explanation of his origin. But the details escaped her. She supposed she could learn more after the mission’s completion, after they’d rescued Pongo from whatever fate he’d befallen.

“Was war between legendary winterland Heropon and Miran gods?” Tatsu waddled up to Nessa, and Elma could practically see the stars in his eyes despite his glasses covering them up, “Like in Tale of Two Gods?”

Nessa raised a curious eyebrow. “That’s the story you were going on about yesterday, right? I ah...no, that’s not the one. This war was a really long time ago - longer than the Nopon have existed, I reckon.”

“Hmph!” He pouted, “Tatsu still want to find Heropon here. Tatsu has so many questions!”

“Maybe we’ll find a Nopon caravan here,” Elma said, “After all, there seems to be one caravan inhabiting every continent thus far. Perhaps we’ll get lucky and find one that would be willing to house us and provide some extra knowledge about the land.” When Tatsu opened his mouth to say something, she quickly added on, “But we shouldn’t depend entirely on that possibility. We need to be able to fend for ourselves and we can’t become reliant on ‘what ifs’.”

“If Tatsu know anything about legendary Heropon here, it’s that he always comes to help!” He kept up his enthusiasm, “Tatsu not lose hope that Heropon will help us if we find him!”

They continued to sail ever closer to the shore, and eventually, Lin turned off the engine and let the yacht come up close to where the sea kissed the land. All it took was a hop and a couple steps for Elma to officially be standing in Cocytios. She inhaled, the crisp winter air stinging her lungs. She’d made a good call, Elma concluded, coming in her mimeosome rather than her true form. Even now, she could feel the chill of the air pushing underneath her clothes and teasing all her goose bumps out of hiding. 

Nessa, Lin and Tatsu soon joined her, and the group stared into the vast expanse of fallen snow, of mountainous terrain and foreign land. When Nessa finally spoke, she didn’t break the silence. How could a silence be broken, when the wind promised so willingly to create sound at all times?

“Welcome to Cocytios,” Nessa extended her arms, smiling warmly in the cold, “I’d love to give the grand tour, but we’ve got ground to cover before dark.”

“Right,” Elma agreed, “Lead the way, Nessa.”

For a moment, Nessa looked honored that Elma had relinquished leadership to her, but she took the news in stride. Nessa soon walked ahead of the others, maintaining a steady pace. For now, the snow was light and feathery, and it didn’t have time to properly accumulate on the ground. Elma looked up at the mountains, at the path they now trekked along, at the cloudy sky and her team around her. Tatsu, having dressed warmly, stuck to Lin’s side like glue. Elma told herself to keep an eye on the little Nopon; he’d tire easily in these conditions, and she’d carry him if he started to fall behind.

Little conversation was had for a vast stretch of time. The wind was consistent and brutal against them, trying so desperately to push them back to the shore from whence they came. Elma observed halfway through their journey that there was a surprising lack of indigen activity. It was unsettling, especially since the snow hindered her vision considerably, so she couldn’t quite tell if there were actually indigens around. Perhaps some were camouflaged, perhaps some were in plain sight and stalking their every movement through the terrain. Elma kept her guard up either way, keeping a vigilant eye out for any surprises. 

“So where exactly is Pongo?” Lin asked at one point, her voice raised to triumph over the wind, “Can Mira remember where he went?”

Nessa didn’t respond. She stopped walking, seemingly frozen in place for an unnatural second. Elma almost thought she was frozen before she finally moved again, turning to face Lin. Her eyes had gone white, the same white as the snow collecting around them, and her voice now harbored an echo, as if she was no longer the only person speaking from her body.

“I do not remember myself, but I do feel a strange presence to the southwest. I believe there may be a Ganglion fortress there, and since the Ganglion attacked Pongo before I lost connection to him, I would harbor he is down there.”

“Meh meh? Nessa sound funny,” Tatsu scowled.

“Oh, that would be correct. Tatsu, my name is Mira. I created both Pongo and Nessa. She allowed me to speak through her body for a short time to relay this information to you.”

“Mira? As in planet Mira?”

“Yes.”

“Tatsu thought Mira was planet! Planets can’t talk!”

“Well, this planet can, thank you very much.”

“Does planet usually have funny accent?”

Nessa - or rather, Mira - stared at Tatsu for a very, very long time. Elma wasn’t sure which was colder: the Cocytios weather or the sheer amount of annoyance radiating off of Mira’s body.

“Nessa usually has a funny accent. Mira, the planet, can sound like anything. I cannot change Nessa’s voice, however.”

Tatsu kept scowling, clearly confused or unconvinced or some mixture of the two. But Lin butted in before Tatsu could raise another question. “So how close are we to that possible fortress?”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s on the other side of the continent,” Mira shrugged, “It’ll take a while.”

“Is there anywhere we can camp nearby, then?” Elma asked, “It would be wise to set up shelter before the sun sets, if what Nessa told is true.”

“Yep, Cocytios’s most dangerous indigens like to emerge in the night hours.” Mira stopped for a moment, looking up as if it were trying to calculate something. “There is a cave nearby that should provide adequate shelter for the night. It is not far, but we should keep up the pace if we want to make it there before nightfall.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Elma confirmed, “Let’s move out.”

And so they continued through the monotonous scenery, with Elma keeping that ever vigilant eye just in case anything popped up. Mira had confirmed that most of the dangerous indigens would emerge at night, and the sun was only just beginning to lower in the sky, but Elma wasn’t about to take any chances. Somewhere along the way, she even asked Mira about possible indigen activity during the day, but Nessa had regained control at that point and could only pass along a cryptic message.

“Mira said we’ll be fine,” Nessa said, “That we shouldn’t worry our little heads about it.”

“Patronizing,” Lin muttered.

The sun was threatening to disappear past the horizon by the time Nessa found the cave Mira had told them about. The entrance was rather small, and the interior didn’t stretch too far into the mountainside it was carved into. But it was a decent enough spot to rest for the night, and Elma located some shrubs that they could use to form a fire. Eventually they’d all settled down, with Elma offering to take watch first, and soon night had fallen and the others had fallen into a peaceful sleep. It gave Elma more time alone with her thoughts, trying to process how quickly things had come to pass, what was going to greet them the next day. She could hear rustling outside, the echoes of indigens calling to each other. One caught her ear the most: a melodic wolf’s howl, multiple, creating a haunting symphony. It was hard to place how close they were, but something told Elma that she didn’t need to worry.

But then, something else caught her ear. Stone cracking, breaking somewhere. Elma looked up and noticed the stalactites hanging from the cave’s ceiling, and she mistakenly thought nothing of it. 

And then, in glorious fashion, one by one, the stalactites fell. Elma couldn’t call out to the others before a rock hit her head and all went dark and quiet once more.

[namelists]

names inspired by: winter

this list includes names inspired by the season of ice and snow, of darkness and new beginnings.

Alaska: from the Aleut aleyska, meaning “the mainland”. Also, the northernmost American state

Aquilo: Greek, meaning “the north wind”

Aurora: Latin for “dawn”. Also, an electrical phenomenon that paints the sky near the northern and southern magnetic poles

Bear: a word meaning “carry” or “support”, a nickname for Russia, and also a mammal that can survive arctic temperatures

Bering: Danish explorer who explored the northern Pacific Ocean for the Russians and discovered the Bering Strait

Bianca: Italian, meaning “white”

Borealis: Latin for “northern”

Bruma: Latin for “winter”

Cheimonas: Greek for “winter”

Colden: a form of Colton that literally has the word ‘cold’ in it

Crispin: Latin, meaning “curly haired”, but conjures images of crisp winter mornings

Crystalline: English, means “taking the form of a crystal” much like an icicle

December: the coldest, darkest, coziest month

Eira: Welsh, meaning “snow”

Eirwen: Welsh, meaning “white snow”

Elsa: Hebrew, meaning “joyful, noble”, most commonly associated with Disney’s snow queen from Frozen

Fox: a trickster animal, whose pure white version can survive the toughest arctic conditions and are extremely cute as well

Frost: a deposit of small white ice crystals formed on the ground or window panes when Jack pays a visit

Garnet: the birthstone of January

Glacia: from the word “glacier”, a slowly moving mass or river of ice

Grey: a hazy shade of winter

Guinevere/Gwendolen/Gwenyth: Welsh names sharing a common root which means “white, fair”

Heath: an area of open uncultivated land

Hiema: from the Latin for “wintry”

Hiver: French, meaning “winter”

Iarnă: Romanian, meaning “winter”

Icy: English, meaning covered with ice crystals. makes a cute nickname

Ivory: a creamy white colour, like snow in the morning

January: the very first month of the year, smack dab in the middle of wintertime

Kodiak: an island off southern Alaska

Lixue: Chinese, meaning “beautiful snow”

Lumikki: the Finnish word for “snow”, and the Finnish name for Snow White

Lynx: a big arctic wildcat

Misty: a cloud that formed close to the surface of the earth

Neva: Spanish, meaning “white snow”

Olwen: Welsh, meaning “white footprint”

Opaline: sparkling with multiple colours, the way the snow does when the light hits it

Polaris: the name of the North Star

Ptarmigan: an arctic bird, the official bird of the province of Nunavut in Canada

Rigor: a sudden feeling of cold with shivering

Rimy: English, covered with frost

Silver: a shiny grey-white colour, of which everything seems tinted in winter

Snow: a bit on the nose, but a cute name, i think

Spruce: a tall tree that stubbornly remains green and lively throughout the winter

Stark: severe or bare in appearance or outline; winter is coming

Stella-Maris: the north star, means “star of the sea” in Spanish

Takurua: “winter” in Maori, also a badass woman in Maori history

Talvi: Finnish for “winter”

Timber: wood prepared for use in building and carpentry, gives me wintry feelings for some reason

Tundra: a vast, flat, treeless Arctic region of Europe, Asia, and North America in which the subsoil is permanently frozen

Ubusika: Zulu, meaning “winter”

Whittaker: Scottish, meaning “white acre”

Winter: i had to include it and i’m not sorry

Wolf: one of the ferocious animals one can encounter in an arctic winter setting

Yukio: Japanese for “snow boy”

Ziema: Slavic, meaning “winter, snow”

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 113: The Duelists

"Are you sure about this?" Snow asked nervously, as she held the baby and rocked him gently and he started to fuss. Eli smiled at his little girl and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Yes...I'm sure. I'll be right there with you, but you are my heir. It's time for you and David to rule in my stead. You both are amazing leaders and you are the strong rulers that this Kingdom deserves," Eli said. Snow sighed and straightened her dress. It wasn't a ball gown and as formal as it might have been in their old land. They had decided that they would only continue to use Enchanted Forest fashions for balls, coronations, and very formal events. They had decided that the clothing native to the Land Without Magic made much more sense for their busy lives as rulers and parents. David was ruling beside her, but still continuing to police the town and now all the realms with Emma.

While Emma was Sheriff of Storybrooke, David's official title would now be King, as well as Supreme Knight and charged with protecting their Kingdom and James' as well, since they had announced that the northern Kingdom would be ruling their people jointly with David's Kingdom that they had returned to James, since David wanted to rule with Snow and take on a more active role in their protection, which didn't surprise anyone. David loved working with their daughter and was the perfect person for this role. He wore semi-formal attire beside his wife for this matter of state, but would trade it for his leather jacket and jeans, alongside Emma, when it came to policing the Kingdoms.

This morning though, Eli had invited many heads of state for this announcement, though the official coronation would come later.

"He's right sweetie...you and David are the leaders this Kingdom needs," Persephone agreed, as they watched a sparkling orange portal appear and Hades step through.

"It works…" he told his wife.

"What works?" David asked.

"Well, as you know, we still want to be close to you...but I need to rule from Olympus now," Persephone answered.

"So, I created a system of portals with a spell that will connect Olympus, this castle, and James'," Hades continued.

"Isn't that kind of dangerous?" David asked wearily.

"The portals are only accessible by the hairs of the people I used in the spell. I included those of us here, David's parents and brother, Regina, Henry, Demeter, Artemis, Apollo, Neal, Rumple, Belle, and Jefferson," Hades explained.

"That way we can still be very close by at all times and you can access Olympus whenever you need or want to," Persephone added.

"That's wonderful, mother," Snow said, as they shared a hug.

"I'm still not sure about this though," she fretted. Eli hugged her briefly and then stepped up in front of the Throne to address the nobles that were gathering. They had dismissed most of his original court when they had taken back the Kingdom. He had taken great pleasure in dismissing those that had treated his little girl so horribly. But unfortunately, dismissing them didn't mean they weren't still the nobility of his Kingdom and many of them were present. James was also present with his and David's parents, since they'd also be announcing the Kingdom merger.

"Thank you all for coming," Eli began, as he brought the attention of the room to him.

"Today, I've gathered my Kingdom together to make a very special announcement. As your King, I have made the decision that it is time for me to step down and crown my heir as your ruler," he announced, which created much commotion.

"The official coronation will come later, but my daughter and son-in-law are this Kingdom's new King and Queen, as I step down into an advisory role," he continued.

"Your daughter is an illegitimate heir!" the Duke protested.

"According to you perhaps, but there has never been a more legitimate heir than my daughter and my son-in-law is the perfect person to rule with her. I may have had to bend under your protests when I was married to Ravenna, but now as sole ruler of my Kingdom, you no longer have any power and she can no longer threaten this Kingdom with war!" he stated firmly.

"My daughter is the rightful Queen of this Kingdom and her husband will be her King," he announced.

"As our first decree as this Kingdom's rulers…" Snow began to say, as she and David joined hands.

"We're announcing that our Kingdom will merge with King James'," Snow announced.

"And the union of these two Kingdoms is blessed by the Gods," Persephone decreed.

"We know that this merger will be benefit the people. No longer will the nobility be the deal makers in your Kingdom. This is a new land and a new era where democracy will rule and the people will prosper," David said, as he spoke directly to the common person. Snow smiled at him.

"My husband is right. The days of your rulers over taxing you are over and we promise to always do what is best for the majority and not just the few that are wealthy," she promised, as the meeting dispersed. The nobility was obviously very unhappy by all of this, but others had received their announcement very well and seemed to trust their new leaders, a testament to Snow and David's reputation.

David felt his phone vibrate and answered it.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Hello there mate…" came an accented voice.

"Hook?" he asked in confusion

"You know these bloody phone things are pretty handy...a nice bit of magic in a land that's not supposed to have any," Killian commented.

"What do you want, Hook?" David questioned.

"I'm just passing on a bit of interesting information that I think you may want to investigate," he said.

"Really? And what's in it for you?" David questioned.

"Touche...but I think you'll be interested to know that I saw that bloody demon Pan conversing with Blackbeard himself," Hook informed.

"Blackbeard?" David asked skeptically.

"Yes...and as bad as I've been at times, I have nothing on Blackbeard. But don't go spreading that around. If those two are talking...it's never good and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see those two go down," Hook replied.

"Thanks for the tip, seriously...I'll look into it right away," David said, as he hung up the phone and found Hades on the other end of the room.

"Hook just called me and said he spied Pan talking to Blackbeard. He suggested that it can't be good," David mentioned.

"Blackbeard...another one of the Underworld's biggest customers. He's right...one snake is bad enough, but two like them is much worse," Hades agreed.

"Fortunately...this might be exactly what we need to get rid of Pan," he added.

"Then I'm in...whatever you need. I want to make sure that demon can't get anywhere near my son," David said eagerly.

"Then I think I have the perfect plan," Hades replied.

~*~

"Look alive slags!" Hook ordered. Upon the uniting of the realms, Killian Jones found that his crew had returned and was without a Captain. They had returned to him, though now that all the realms were in one place, he wasn't sure what kind of future he had here. He had informed the Prince about Blackbeard's dealings with Pan, simply because he hated them both and with them out of the way, it would make controlling the seas a lot easier. But with all the realms now so close together and being ruled by Persephone, it made his need for revenge against the Crocodile even more risky. The bloody Dark One was actually friends with the Prince...now a King, which still blew his mind. Charming and the Crocodile as friends still sounded like an oxymoron to him, but then he had learned since that David had very humble beginnings, not unlike Rumpelstiltskin.

"You still seek revenge, Killian Jones, but are even more uncertain how to achieve that in this new land," Claude Frollo stated, as he appeared.

"Yes...but I assure you that I do not need the likes of you to help me find my way," Hook retorted, as he moved about his ship.

"Even if I knew of something with the ability to trap someone...anyone in a place or status. A flower that can confine even an immortal and allow them to be killed," he responded. Hook paused and turned to him.

"I've lived for more than three hundred years and know just about every flower or root in the Enchanted Forest and Neverland. No such thing exists, except perhaps Dreamshade. But the Crocodile would never fall for that. He knows its dangers too," Hook replied.

"I am not talking about dreamshade. The flower I am referring to does not have a special name. It is just a simple, rare golden flower that exists in another Enchanted forest that used to be out of reach, but that is no longer the case," Frollo responded.

"That territory beyond Neverland," Hook surmised, as he looked at this new magical forest that was now in the midst.

"Yes...if this flower's golden dust were to be combined with the power of my cauldron, I would be the God ruling the United Realms," Frollo offered.

"Hmm...exchanging the benevolent rule of Persephone for one of terror in yours…" Hook said, pretending to think about it.

"Pass…" he said.

"You'll regret this. If you will not retrieve it for me, then I will make a deal with Blackbeard. Think carefully…" Frollo warned.

"Make your deal with Blackbeard if you must. I have honor and good form. Blackbeard would betray his own mother. No deal," Hook refuted, as Frollo disappeared in a puff of smoke, quite agitated by his refusal. Hook smirked.

"You may make a deal with Blackbeard, but it won't do you any good if I get this flower first," he muttered.

"Mr. Smee!" he bellowed.

"Yes Captain?" his first mate answered.

"Prepare us to set sail," he ordered.

"What is the destination, Captain?" Smee questioned.

"That new magical forest...it's time to see what it has to offer me," Hook replied.

~*~

The bell on the shop rang and Rumple instantly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"You have three seconds to get out…" he hissed.

"That's not a very good way to greet your father, Rum…"

"You are no father…" he hissed.

"Perhaps not...but I could be. Think about it...if we make the right moves, we can rule the United Realms. Together," Pan offered.

"I have no interest in ruling anything with you, especially not a town and Kingdoms full of zombies, which is what this place will be if you're allowed to keep eating souls," Rumple answered.

"Ah, but we both know one way that I can have the sustenance I need to join you in immortality. If I have consume a product of true love...then I will no longer need ordinary souls to sustain me," Pan explained, with a smirk.

"Think about it...there are three options for me. Emma is less desirable. Though she is powerful...her innocence is long gone. She'd give me hundreds of years for sure...but wouldn't quite get me where I need to be," he said.

"And then there is my great grandson. The grandson of the two most powerful bloodlines in existence. The lightest and the darkest. Not to mention...we both know that he has the heart of the truest believer. If I take that heart and consume his soul...I'd achieve my immortality," Pan continued.

"If you think we will let you harm our grandson…" Rumple started to say.

"Relax Rumple...as tempting as Henry is, he is also my blood," Pan responded.

"Like that has ever stopped or bothered you before," the Dark One retorted.

"True...but there is now an option that doesn't involve Henry," Pan purported.

"The baby…" Rumple muttered.

"Yes...young Alexander Nolan Charming. Another product of true love; a love written in the stars by Athena. A child born with incredible magic like his sister, but as innocent as...well a baby," Pan mused.

"You are not eating that child's soul. Believe it or not...having you in any kind of powerful position is the last thing I want," Rumple refuted. Pan frowned.

"You want to side with me, Rumple...you do not want to be my enemy," he warned.

"Besides...it's not like those two idiots won't pop out more magical babies. They gave you the one you needed for the curse and now they can give me the one I need to live," he hissed.

"Do not compare us!" the Dark One hissed, but then sobered when he saw that his father was not backing down.

"And if I refuse?" Rumple questioned.

"I'll kill them...they're souls will be nice additions," Pan threatened. Rumple glowered at him and clenched his teeth, knowing that he was referring to Bae and Belle.

"What do you need from me?" he growled. Pan smirked victoriously.

"I can handle the two idiots and even their daughter. But I need a way to neutralize Hades and Persephone," he said. Rumple sighed painfully and opened his safe, before taking out a small box and sliding it over to him on the counter.

"Pandora's box. You have to get quite close to them when you activate it, but it can trap anyone, even Gods," Rumple said. Pan smirked.

"Thank you son...you won't regret this," he said, as he disappeared in a puff of smoke. Once he did, Belle came out from the back room.

"No...I won't," Rumple said, with a smirk.

"Do you think he bought it?" she asked. He nodded.

"Of course he did. I am the Dark One, after all. He expects me to betray the heroes and family alike...because that's exactly what he would do," he replied. She smiled and kissed his cheek.

"But you're nothing like him," she said.

"Let's go...we don't want to miss the show and by that I mean...Pan's demise," he replied, as he took her hand and they left through the back of the shop.

~*~

David arrived at the docks that afternoon to follow up on Hook's tip and he spotted the pirate Blackbeard on his ship, the Queen Anne's Revenge. Naturally, he had heard of this pirate. He was a ruthless man, evil and nearly without conscious. While Hook had done some deplorable things, he knew the other pirate was the way he was because he had suffered loss in his life. It didn't excuse anything he had done, including murdering his father, but he started out as a good person. The same could not be said for Blackbeard. He did evil things and killed without a second thought, for riches or sometimes just because he felt like it. He controlled much of the seas back home, but David was determined that this wouldn't be the case here in the United Realms.

"No one is permitted aboard the ship without the Captain's permission," one of the deckhand's hissed, as he leveled his sword at David.

"This is the United Realms and the rules have changed," David said, as he flashed his badge and pushed passed the man, before making his way onto the deck.

"Well, well, it's not everyday that my humble ship is visited by a royal. And a King at that," Blackbeard announced to his crew mockingly.

"Oh believe me, I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here. But since you were spotted conspiring with an enemy to my Kingdom earlier...I'm here to investigate," David said, as he noticed the pirates began to surround him.

"Really? Conspiring with an enemy. That is a very serious charge," Blackbeard replied.

"Yeah...and you're going to tell me everything you know about what Pan is up to," David said, as he noticed the pirates drew their swords.

"Am I?" Blackbeard goaded.

"And what will you do if I don't, Prince Charming?" he questioned.

"Well, for starters, I'll take down your entire crew if they try to attack me and then you and I will duel, if you're really intent on resisting. After that, I'll cuff all of you and you'll have a nice new home in the dungeon of my castle," David said, as Blackbeard and his crew all had a good laugh at that.

"Even the illustrious Prince Charming can't take us all on," Blackbeard stated.

"But it will be fun watching you try," he added.

"Last chance...I just want to know what Pan is planning and then I'll be on my way," David warned. But they didn't heed his warning and a couple of pirates moved in. With lightning quick reflexes, David unsheathed his sword and parried their attacks.

"Stand down...I didn't hurt you on purpose. But next time, you won't be so lucky," he warned. But they ignored his warning again and he dispatched them with ease.

"Well...the stories are true. We're in the presence of a real genuine dragon slayer, men," Blackbeard boasted.

"That's right...I've slayed dragons and they smelled better than you and your crew," David retorted, making the pirate Captain chuckle.

"Fighting dragons is much different than fighting pirates. I've slayed many a royal with far more training and experience than you," Blackbeard warned.

"So you say...and I doubt they've had my training," David countered. Blackbeard smirked.

"First one to get me his head so I can present it to his Queen gets half our next haul of gold," he announced to his men. But David was ready, as the pirates attacked and he took them all on. With fluid skill and perfect technique, David did something that not many ever did and that was shock the infamous pirate, as none of his crew was left standing after a short bout against the newly minted King of Misthaven. He wore a deep frown at that and drew his own cutlass.

"I warned you...and I'll ask one more time. Tell me what Pan is up to and I'll forget that your crew attacked me. I am a father that just wants to protect his children from that demon," David stated.

"Not even I cross Pan, Your Majesty...and you'd do well not to cross him either, unless you'd like those children to be fatherless," Blackbeard warned.

"I'll take my chances," David snapped in return.

"You are as brave as the legends boast...but not even a dragon slayer quite possesses your level of skill. I'm curious as to who your instructor was," Blackbeard inquired curiously. David smirked.

"He doesn't take over the hill pirates on as students," the blonde quipped in return. Blackbeard's frown deepened into a snarl, as they engaged in an all out duel.

David maneuvered defensively and parried the pirate's blade, as he came at him with vicious strikes. As he predicted, Blackbeard had a very aggressive style that made his necessary defensive moves elaborate and thus tiring. He wasn't surprised that this was Blackbeard's style. His aggressive movements were tiring too, but he likely banked on tiring his opponent out before he himself exhausted. And David suspected that this strategy often worked. His name wasn't infamous for no reason, after all. However, David was no ordinary opponent. In one life, Anna had trained him and trained him well. His original skills were impressive enough as it was and he could match even the fiercest opponent. But in his other life, his training with Eli and Hades had only further enhanced and honed his skills. Even against such an aggressive style, David was able to maintain a complete defense without tiring too much. Hades had rigorously trained him for this type of fight as he himself had a rather aggressive style.

"You can't keep dodging me forever, boy...I'll have you shadowboxing soon," Blackbeard warned.

"You're probably right," David confirmed.

"Your pretty head will be a boast worthy prize though and I imagine your fair Queen will be quite inconsolable," he continued to boast.

"No...she'll be just fine, because I'll be going home to her like I always do and she'll be in my arms tonight, while your evening will be spent in your new home. Our dungeon," David countered. Blackbeard chuckled.

"You admitted yourself that this is not a pace you can continue," Blackbeard shot back.

"And you were right about that...which means it's time to go on the offensive," David retorted, as David's footing shifted and he came at the pirate with fell swoops and sharp angles. The pirate was forced to backpedal on his own ship and growled, as he tried to beat him back. But the smirk remained on David's face, as he matched the pirate blow for blow. Blackbeard yelled in frustration, as he brought his blade up, intending to beat his opponent down with the hilt if he had to, but his anger made him sloppy and David capitalized on the moment of error. He stopped Blackbeard's blade in a high arc and with a flick of his wrist, he split his defenses and sliced the pirate's hand. It was a minor wound, but enough to disarm him and David caught his cutlass before it could clatter to the deck. He held both weapons to the pirate's neck, forcing him to yield.

"I haven't enjoyed a dual that much in years," Hades said, as the pirate looked up to find the former God of the Underworld in the crow's nest. He jumped down easily and landed on his feet.

"Those were some nice moves. Who taught you those? Oh wait...it was me," Hades boasted, as he waved his hands and Blackbeard found himself in shackles.

"Eli deserves some credit too," David admonished.

"I suppose," the former God of the Underworld amitted, before turning his attention to the defeated pirate.

"Tell us what Pan is planning," Hades demanded to know.

"I thought you knew...he's after your brat," Blackbeard hissed, as he looked at David.

"But he wouldn't need to talk to you if he didn't need to make a deal of some sort. Tell me...or the ship burns," Hades warned, as a blue fireball appeared in his hand. Blackbeard was silent and the former God of the dead was true to his word, as he lit the mast ablaze.

"Damn you...all right! Stop! The bloody demon wanted me to create a problem big enough to distract you and your wife. He plans to take the two of you out so getting the child will be an easy play," Blackbeard confessed.

"He promised I could have its parents and ransom them to the highest bidder. He figures Frollo and Ravenna would fight over who gets their heads. Or perhaps Leopold will pay for your wife...and I think he wants more than her head," Blackbeard goaded, as he looked at David. The former Prince and now King angrily swept the pirate's legs out from under him. He hit the deck on his back and David poised his sword at his throat.

"Talk about her like that again...and we'll skip the dungeon," he warned.

"And the fates will not be kind in their judgement of you in the Underworld," Hades added.

"You have what you want...now leave me," Blackbeard hissed.

"Oh no, you're still going to a rat infested dungeon," Hades said, as he waved his hand and the pirates all disappeared.

"You were right...he's making his move today," David said worriedly.

"Don't worry...our plan is in place. This will work," Hades assured. David nodded, hoping he was right and followed his father-in-law back onto the dock. They headed for Storybrooke, where, if Hades was right, Pan was getting ready to make his move. The bait was set and the trap was ready to be sprung.

[fanfic-phoenix]

Goodnight, Merlin

Summary:  It had been a long time since the Battle of Ealdor - a long time since he’d moved out of the ‘wanting to kill Merlin’ phase of his cataclysmic anger which, really, had only lasted as long as threatening to take his head off with a sword and leave him there, blood mingling with that of Kanen’s men, before he was interrupted by Kanen’s attempt on his life and left forever in the debt of Will.

After all of that, they’d finally gone back to normal.

Well. Mostly normal.

Almost normal.

Normal, except Arthur couldn’t keep his eyes off of Merlin.

Find it on AO3

Dearest Mother,

Like I promised, here is the prince’s judgement following the “revelations” during the Battle of Ealdor.  (He insists upon the name.  He says it makes it sound more heroic, and that if it sounds heroic Uther might forgive him sooner.  I’m not so sure about that, but there’s no convincing him.)  Amazingly, he seems to have forgiven come to peace with me neglecting to mention it, and ‘it’ in itself.  I think I may be safe, from him at least.  I still wouldn’t dare mention it to anyone else - even if they didn’t give me up, I firmly believe that Gaius and the prince would conspire to kill me for my foolishness.  Or at least to give me a day in the stocks.

I hope that the repairs in Ealdor are going well.  I have been told by the Lady Morgana to tell you that you need only ask for any extra food or funds, though she regrets that it may take a while, seeing as how the king has not officially (or unofficially, for that matter) sanctioned any aid, and is still a bit seething.  (Gwen says hi.  She hopes you’re all well.  She also offers aid, in the form of her coming to help out at the drop of a hat.)

Gaius is well, as am I, and I hope you are too.  I have enclosed the regular share of wages - the messenger is trustworthy.  Arthur The prince said so.

With love,

Merlin

Dearest Mother,

Though I appreciate both your concern and the offer, I must reluctantly decline your offer of sanctuary during these times of hardship in Camelot.  It would be improper of me to abandon my duties at this time, to say nothing of abandoning my friends.  (Can you tell that Arthur the prince has been teaching me how to write formally?  He hopes to use me as a scribe, but he says he can’t do that if I still write like a commoner.  I told him that I would rather write like myself than like a pompous cabbage-head, but I don’t think he appreciated my input.)

But really, you don’t have to worry about me.  We might have run out of regular food, but there are always substitutes.  Gaius served up giant insects yesterday (which, for the record, taste nothing like chicken), and a few days ago I managed to capture the rat that has been running around Arthur’s the prince’s Prince Arthur’s chambers and put it into a stew.  He didn’t really appreciate the effort, and I can’t say I liked it very much either, so we gave it to the Lady Morgana.  I don’t know whether she enjoyed it or not.

The palace has had some disagreements in how to deal with the famine, but rest assured that the prince and I have an idea of how to deal with it.  It’ll all come right in the end.

I hope that the fortunes of Ealdor are better than ours.  (It should be, so long as none of you has been idiotically hunting unicorns.) (That was unfair.  Sorry.)

With love,

Merlin

Dearest Mother,

This is only a short note to tell you that the famine in Camelot has passed.  The idea Arthur and I had was right, in the end, though I hadn’t banked on the noble prat trying to sacrifice himself and give me a heart attack.  Still; Anhora, Keeper of Unicorns, is rather nice when he’s not pretending to kill people’s friends.  (Don’t worry, the letter is sealed with my special method.  No one can read this.)

I think Arthur might have started to forgive me, thank the gods.  I should have trusted you.  You did say he’d come around.  (He let me clean his armour again yesterday!)  (I’d never had thought I’d be happy about that.  Maybe the lack of food got to me.)

With love,

Merlin

Dearest Mother,

Gwen’s father was killed last night.  He tried to escape and was caught.  The guards cut him down where he stood.  Arthur tried to protest on his behalf, but Uther wouldn’t listen - he hears the word magic and becomes deaf to all logic.  Arthur is guilty and Morgana is furious.  Gwen is heartbroken.  I don’t know how to help her.  Your advice would be most welcome.

With love,

Merlin

Dearest Mother,

I swear to you, I didn’t know what Nimueh was going to do.  I only wanted to help Arthur. It was supposed to be me, mother.  I’m so, so, sorry.  I said goodbye to you, but I don’t know how much you understood, so I’ll say it again now, and you can read it when you’re well again.  (You will be well again.  Gaius is a good physician if I can’t lift the spell immediately.  We’re going to make you better again, I promise.)  You don’t have to worry about me.  The gods will protect me, and one day I’ll see you again.  I will miss you.

Goodbye,

Love Merlin

Dearest Mother,

I’m glad to hear that all is well in Ealdor.  I know you didn’t like to leave whilst you were worried about Nimueh and her power as you left, but I promise you that she will never hurt anyone again.  I just didn’t know how to say it whilst face-to-face with you.  Don’t worry about anything - you have Gaius’ lucky rabbit foot to protect you, and all you have to do is send a letter.  I’ll steal Arthur’s horse and come right there - she likes me better than him, anyway.  (I give her apples.)

With love,

Merlin

Arthur looked up briefly from his table to watch Merlin write a note to his mother.  It was always nice to watch his manservant writing; he leant far too close to the parchment and wrote slowly, the tip of his pink tongue poking out the corner of plump pink lips (newly scarred in the centre with a small pale triangle; he’d bitten it during his fight with Nimueh) as he tried to be neat and avoid smudging the wet ink.  He was getting slightly faster with Arthur teaching him every now and then, but half-remembered lessons from Geoffrey were perhaps not the best method ever devised.

“Are you done yet, Merlin?” he asked as Merlin started to hum quietly.  It sounded like a lullaby, like something his mother might have sung.  (Arthur had heard Hunith in Ealdor, singing a similar tune under her breath as she cooked.)  He only did this when he signed his name, which was about the only word he spelt consistently although, under Arthur’s tutelage - which was, whatever Merlin said, necessary if Merlin was to take notes for him, as manservants should - that was improving, too.  Merlin ceased humming and nodded.  Arthur smiled, “Right, you can take my report and leave it in the council room whilst you take yours to the messenger.”

Merlin murmured his agreement, cursing under his breath as he dropped black ink from the tip of his quill onto his sleeve.  Arthur rolled his eyes and added, “Fetch my lunch whilst you’re at it, too.”

“Of course, sire,” Merlin said, making full use of his amazing talent of making Arthur’s title drip with sarcasm and disrespect.  “Anything else, sire?”

“A properly respectful manservant would be nice.”

“I’ll fetch George then,” Merlin said, looking almost subservient but having the act betrayed by his wicked smirk that reached from the corner of his mouth up to his bright blue eyes, which sparkled like the sea with the light of mischief.  Arthur shuddered at the thought, shaking his head: though neither of them had been subjected to George’s presence, they’d heard stories of his dullness, his ridiculous nitpicking, and (horrifyingly) his jokes about polishing brass.  Even Guinevere’s smile (slowly starting to be as bright as it had once been as she worked through her grief) was reported to become strained in his presence.

Arthur watched Merlin as he left to drop off his letter and Arthur’s report (and hopefully not fetch George) before he realised what he was doing and looked swiftly away, silently cursing himself.

It had been a long time since the Battle of Ealdor - a long time since he’d moved out of the ‘wanting to kill Merlin’ phase of his cataclysmic anger which, really, had only lasted as long as threatening to take his head off with a sword and leave him there, blood mingling with that of Kanen’s men, before he was interrupted by Kanen’s attempt on his life and left forever in the debt of Will.  After that, there had just been heavy silence broken only by sudden, heated arguments, and all the playful teasing that characterised their odd relationship and had to be kept up to stop people realising something was wrong was laced with anger.

Arthur had hated it.  He just hadn’t known how to get over it.

But then there was the unicorn’s curse.  Merlin had tried as hard as anyone - harder than anyone, except perhaps possibly Arthur - to try and lift it, and in the maze, he had begged to drink the poison instead of him.  When Arthur woke up Merlin was looking down on him with a look of such relief, face breaking into an earnest grin, that he couldn’t anything but grin back before letting his head drop onto the sand with a relieved, slightly hysterical, puff of laughter.  

(And, of course, when the unicorn trotted through the forest, there were only two things more beautiful: the pure joy on Merlin’s face as he stared, grabbing Arthur’s arm to make him gape at it too, and the knowledge that Merlin wasn’t evil, could never be evil.)

The Questing Beast had merely confirmed it.  Merlin had told him what happened eventually, because Arthur had got sick of his bottom lip trembling near-constantly (and of not knowing where the fresh scab Merlin couldn’t leave alone had come from), sat him down on the edge of his bed, knelt down to eye-level, and asked him to please - “Please, Merlin,” - tell him what was wrong.

Merlin burst into tears almost immediately.  The story had been garbled and parts of it told into Arthur’s shoulder as he hugged Merlin tightly to his chest, trying to make him promise never to do such a thing again.  The thing, of course, being bargaining his life, being betrayed in a way that risked both Hunith and Gaius, offending a dragon, just barely killing a powerful sorceress before she killed him, and briefly holding onto the power of life and death by the tips of his long, thin fingers, just to keep Arthur alive.

Merlin refused to make the promise.  His eyes had been bloodshot, and the pale skin around them rubbed red by his fists, but they’d also been hard and resolute as he declared that it was his destiny to protect Arthur and that he would never renege on this.

(The only thing for it was for Arthur to apologise for… well, everything from Ealdor to that point, and then to make a similar vow that he would always seek to protect Merlin.)

After all of that, they’d finally gone back to normal.

Well.  Mostly normal.

Almost normal.

Normal, except Arthur couldn’t keep his eyes off of Merlin.

It was stupid and inconvenient and more than a little embarrassing, but Arthur couldn’t keep his gaze from wandering from where it was meant to be to Merlin - Merlin!  Of all people!  It was getting to the point that his knights were talking about it, making crude jokes that Sir Leon tried and failed to cover up by clearing his throat.  It was irritating and an insult to both his and Merlin’s respective dignities and he wanted nothing more than to tell them exactly where they could shove their jokes, but unless he could offer proof against it they wouldn’t cease and he couldn’t give them that without outing Merlin as a sorcerer.  (No, not sorcerer; warlock.  That was what Merlin called himself.)

Worse than anything was that Arthur couldn’t think of any reason for watching Merlin other than there being some part of his subconscious that was still suspicious of Merlin’s morality.  The only explanation was that he didn’t - couldn’t - completely trust that Merlin wouldn’t go on an evil, anti-Camelot rampage.  If it made it better - which he suspected it didn’t - he was ashamed of himself and spent a good portion of his time trying to convince the part of his mind unconvinced that Merlin was trustworthy and loyal.

He tried and failed not to sneak glances at his manservant as he ate his lunch.

The day was remarkably uneventful, trundling along with a complete lack of threats, magical or otherwise.  Arthur was almost relaxed as he made his way up to dinner with Morgana and his father.  (Almost, because it had been almost a week since Arthur’s sling had been removed and there had been no attack since then, and with Camelot’s general rate of magical attack that was probably something akin to a miracle.  It had put himself, the knights, and Merlin - though he tried to hide it - more than slightly on edge)

Merlin followed close behind him, having dressed him with minimal efficiency and maximum inane chatter.  Arthur had long ago learned to tune this out into nothing more than a gentle buzz that washed over him like the tide.  He’d also learned to ignore the way Merlin’s touch made him tingle wherever his fingers even grazed his skin.  Though he still didn’t know why.  Maybe it was just something that warlocks’ hands did.  (Even though he could have sworn they hadn’t always burned.)

He bowed his head respectfully when he entered the room (later than the other two, as usual, thanks to Merlin) and offered Guinevere a small smile before taking his seat.  Merlin sank almost gracefully into the shadows, pulling just slightly on his jacket to ensure it sat properly.  He was always a better servant around Uther, Arthur noticed, being afraid of him.  Not a good servant, of course, but better.

Unfortunately, being aware of why Merlin was afraid meant that, instead of being glad of Merlin’s sudden almost-competence, Arthur burned with impotent anger and grief that mingled in an unpleasant and confusing pool in the pit of his stomach.

As he took his seat, Uther immediately launched into a one-sided conversation about the running of the kingdom.  Or perhaps the dangers of magic.  Or perhaps something else…  Arthur wasn’t exactly sure.  He wasn’t concentrating.  Arthur’s attention was on Merlin, in the shadows, just in his line of sight.  It wouldn’t matter - Uther never asked him for a reply.  He was free to watch Merlin laugh quietly at something Gwen said as they stood together, smothering the sound with his open palm but failing to hide the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners with his brilliant grin.  As Uther kept ranting, he saw how Merlin wrinkled his nose adorably and rolled his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, raising them to the ceiling, then bringing them to lie on Guinevere’s face, gently elbowing her in the ribs and smiling as she whacked his arm.

Arthur reached to take another bite of his dinner, his gaze still on Merlin, and knocked his goblet with his elbow.  Wine dribbled down the side and pooled on the tablecloth - he winced and hissed irritably through his teeth.  Morgana giggled into her own goblet, raising one delicate eyebrow, and he sneered at her.  Merlin walked over with a cloth and a chuckle, mopping up and leaning close enough to murmur, “And you call me clumsy,” into his ear.  Arthur, to his humiliation, felt a shiver travel down his spine.  Not an unpleasant shiver, like when he’d been training knights in the rain, more…

He clenched his teeth and held himself rigid.  He didn’t want to think too hard on what it was.  Not with Merlin so close, close enough for Arthur to feel his breath on his cheek as he cleaned up the wine, his chest pressed flush against Arthur’s back.  (God, he hadn’t noticed the shiver, had he?  How embarrassing.)  He cleared his throat and pushed his chair back as soon as Merlin pulled away, springing up and bowing to a bemused looking Uther.  “Apologies, father; I feel a little unwell.”  His voice was slightly hoarse, lending itself to the lie.  “I think I may be coming down with something.  I think I’ll retire early tonight.”

Uther waved a hand to excuse him, already moving onto the next topic of the conversation that he thought - or pretended - people were listening to.  Morgana flicked her eyes over Arthur in a slightly concerned once over but then, apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, turned around to better not-listen to Uther.  Merlin flashed a confused look to Guinevere in the shadows - is he acting strange or is it just me? he seemed to ask - and then bowed to the king (awkwardly, of course, because he was terrible at respect, and it wasn’t as if he practised showing any to Arthur) before hurrying out behind him.

They walked to his chambers without speaking, although the back of Arthur’s neck tingled with both the weight of Merlin’s gaze and the now-familiar feeling of a diagnostic spell.  (He rolled his eyes as he felt it, though there was no real annoyance in it; Merlin had been overprotective - even more than usual - ever since the Questing Beast.  Perhaps it was a little justified, but still.)

When they reached the door, Arthur turned to him.  “Take the evening off, Merlin.  I can tend to myself tonight.”

“What?”  Merlin’s voice was flat.  He looked at him like he’d grown a second head.  Or perhaps been enchanted.  If it wasn’t for Merlin’s diagnostic spells whenever he sniffed, he’d probably think he was enchanted.

Merlin didn’t leave.  “You’re going to get ready on your own?”

“I am the prince, Merlin,” he said, drawing out his name with just the right amount of exasperation to mask his amusement, to hide the fact Merlin’s stubbornness was more than mildly endearing, and to dispel any idea that Merlin was anything more than an irritation, though the man in question might not fall for it anymore.  “I’m sure I can get dressed without your assistance,” Arthur added.  “Enjoy your time off.  Just don’t get used to it.”

Merlin nodded slowly, looking suspicious.  He hesitated a moment longer before heading obediently to the physician’s chambers where Gaius was waiting for him.

Arthur let out a breath of relief as he went - he needed to think.

Merlin quietly thanked the gods as he walked into the rooms he shared with Gaius to find him there, sat at the table and serenely crushing some strong smelling herb with his mortar and pestle.  Merlin sat next to him on the wooden bench, taking up the labels he’d been writing the last time he’d actually been free to do the duties of his apprenticeship.  As he let the ink and quills float over to him, ignoring the sharp look Gaius sent him, he watched the water boiling in the centre of the table.  It was close to boiling over, and he wondered idly whether Gaius would notice, or if he’d have to once again leap in to subvert disaster.

He plucked his writing utensils out of the air and stared at the spellings in the book.  He wanted to get these right; he knew how important it was that Gaius could find his ingredients quickly, and he also knew that the more words he began spelling consistently, the prouder Arthur looked when he was finished writing the letter dictated to him.  This was good practice.

His voice was distant as he asked, “Is it just me, or has Arthur been�� odd, recently.”

“Is he enchanted?”  Gaius was unconcerned, secure in the knowledge that Merlin would be doing far more shouting and pacing if Arthur was enchanted.  “It has been a while.”

Merlin looked up from his labels with a wry smile, “No.”  The smile slipped and he sighed slightly.  It’d be less confusing if he was.  “Just… odd.”

Just… jumpy.  Weirdly attentive - Merlin wasn’t sure someone had watched him as often or as closely as Arthur had since the Questing Beast in any other time of his life, and that included his mother when he was learning to use his magic for the first time.  And it wasn’t even watching to check he was doing his work.  At least, he didn’t think so.  Arthur just kept… looking.  Looking at him for no good reason.  Not even for a bad reason.  Just looking.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say…

No.

He did know better.  He wouldn’t say it.  Wouldn’t think it.

He knew better than to get his hopes up.

Gaius finally set aside his herbs and noticed the water, giving a short cry and mock-glaring at Merlin when he failed to properly smother his laugh.  Then his look softened and Merlin turned back to his labels.  Gaius’ looks were always intense, even when he didn’t add in The Eyebrow, and Merlin particularly hated his sympathetic looks.

“Well,” Gaius said slowly, “it’s not that long since Arthur had a near-death experience.  He’s likely a bit shaken up.”

Merlin thought a moment, then wrinkled his nose and shook his head.  “No, he’s had plenty of those.  Besides, he just beats up his knights when he’s reminded of his own mortality and needs cheering up, and he’s already done that this week.”

Gaius arched his eyebrow and Merlin skillfully ignored him.  Arthur was an open book if you knew how to read him.  And it wasn’t exactly a secret; surely Gaius noticed how his bruise salves were used up quicker in the two weeks following Arthur recovering from a near-fatal incident.  Gaius was still looking at him oddly, so Merlin went back to his labels.  He misspellt a word and cursed under his breath - Gaius hit him upside the head and did not deign to answer when he yelled, “Ow!  What was that for?”

Gaius went back to the prior topic without acknowledging the violence as Merlin took a fresh label.  “Perhaps Arthur is just now realising the scale of your power.  You did hold the power of life and death in your hands, bringing balance to the Old Religion.  It’s probably a bit overwhelming.”

Merlin froze.  He stopped writing, lay down his quill, and groaned quietly.  Of course.  Of course.  It must have the Isle of the Blessed.  It had to have been.  Not because of his powers, no - he’d explained them long ago, fairly soon after Ealdor.  No.  It had to be because of what he’d done to Nimueh.

When he’d been telling stories to Arthur before, he’d always glossed over any battles, any deaths.  He didn’t like to talk about it, and he didn’t want Arthur to look at him differently.  But, when he’d been telling him about Nimueh, he’d been so upset it had all come pouring out.  How he’d dragged the lightning from the sky and struck her deep in the chest; how when the smoke cleared she was nothing more than a scorch mark on the ground, ashes in the air, and the faint smell of burning; how he’d not known it’d save Gaius - it was just revenge for what she’d done.  How he’d felt nothing but happy when she died because the people he cared about were safe.  How he’d not even felt a tiny pinprick of remorse until a full day later, and then only because he could tell it upset Gaius, not because he regretted it.

Arthur was probably disgusted in him.

Gaius was looking at him with a healthy dose of pity in his eyes.  Merlin put the quill away.  “I think…  I think I’m going to go to bed.”

Sleep didn’t come easily to Merlin.  Ever since moving to Camelot, where death and danger surrounded him and, sometimes, came from his own hands, he struggled.  Grief and guilt would tear alternately at his chest and keep his eyes from closing.

Tonight, sleep didn’t come at all.

He lay in his bed, tossing and turning, and then, a while later, gave up.  He sat up and hung his blankets around his shoulders, hanging his feet over the edge of the bed.  As quietly as he could, he kicked the loose floorboard aside.  Then, he plucked his magic book from the hole, hissing as he smacked his knuckles on the Sidhe staff, and lay back down.

He started on the very first page and read through familiar words, running his fingers over ink and tracing illustrations.  There was the spell that saved Arthur from the honourable Knight Valiant - and left a vicious dog in his bedroom, which he and Gaius had had a hell of a time dealing with.  That one was the poultice that had saved Gwen’s father, even if he couldn’t save him later on.  That one had conjured the wind to destroy the afnac.  This one to kill a Gryphon, another one to take a bug from a king’s ear (and make Gaius call him a genius, which was nice).  Spells to heal, to save - and so many of them to kill.  It was amazing to think that before he’d come to Camelot, he’d not even been able to kill the spiders that hid in his boots.  (For the record, he still didn’t.  His mother had taught him not to.)

He sighed and closed the book.  So many spells and they could do nothing for him now.  It was magic that got him into the mess - he doubted that using more of it would make anything better.  It couldn’t make Arthur trust him again.

He hung over the side of his bed again, face close to the floor, book held tightly in his hands, ready to put it back.  He hesitated, hanging there, suspended upside down with his hair brushing the wooden floor and his cheeks starting to flush as blood flowed to his head and made him dizzy.  By the gods, he’d really messed it up this time.

Whoever it was who decided that honesty was the best policy was a filthy liar.

What Merlin needed was something to prove he wasn’t a cold-blooded, revenge-driven murderer like so many of the other magic-users Arthur had met.  (What he needed was to have had some discretion when he was talking about Nimueh.   What he needed was a time-travelling spell.)  He chewed on his lip.  The book weighed down his arms - oh.  Of course.

He shoved himself back onto the bed, shaking the dizziness from his head.  What he needed was a spell so amazing and beautiful and… and… magical that Arthur would see that his powers - most people’s powers - weren’t made for murder.  That Merlin wasn’t made for murder.

With the smallest of grins playing at his lips, he started to flip through the hundreds of pages.

Arthur was very aware that he’d messed up.  Ever since the meal when he’d sent Merlin away, Merlin had hardly spent any time with him.  He didn’t spend two minutes longer in Arthur’s presence than he absolutely had to.  He practically sprinted back to his chambers when he finished his duties, sometimes murmuring an excuse about Gaius needing him, sometimes not even bothering with that.

Something told him that Merlin had picked up on his lingering gazes and realised what it meant for Arthur’s trust in him - or lack thereof.

He reflected on this one morning, almost a full week after the meal.  (The Meal, he’d started to think of it as.  An incident.  Something to be capitalised.)  He’d woken early, before Merlin came to fetch him, and lay staring at the canopy, wondering whether it would be better to admit to everything and apologies or to act as if nothing was wrong.  That nothing had changed.

The more he thought about it, the more he came to realise that it hadn’t actually started straight after he’d learned about Merlin’s magic.  Not like this.  His original anger - his usual anger - meant that he didn’t look at Merlin at all.  He looked just past him, just above him, just to the side of him.

No, this had begun after Merlin explained what he’d done to Nimueh.  In the few quiet moments following his confession, with him perched on the bed and Arthur crouched before him, Arthur had been unable to do anything but look at him, realising for the first time the care and devotion Merlin gave him, though he didn’t come close to deserving it.  He’d done nothing but watch the tears well in those clear blue eyes, occasionally flecked with gold, as Merlin proved beyond doubt that he and Arthur, despite having the outward appearance of master and servant, were more than equal.  Able to be friends on even footing.  Maybe even…

Arthur’s mouth went dry.  He swallowed, felt his throat catch.  Suddenly, looking at his behaviour from a new angle, he wondered if he’d perhaps been… mistaken.  If there’d maybe been more truth to his knights’ jokes than he’d realised.  (If, maybe, he’d wished without realising that there had been.)

He stood abruptly, feeling suffocated by the covers he tossed aside with a lack of care that Merlin would scold him for when he made the bed.  He started to pace.  Clearly, he thought to himself with something close to a chuckle, clearly, he was being ridiculous.

But if he was being ridiculous, why did the idea seem so natural?  Like a piece finally slotting into place.  Why, when he thought a little harder, was there a list in his head of things he’d always wanted to do to Merlin?  (How long had that been there?  Since Ealdor?  Earlier?  Since they met?)  Why did he want nothing more than, next time Merlin quirked those stupidly pink lips of his into an insolent smirk, to kiss it away, using the little pale triangle as a target?  Why did he want to draw him into a hug as tight as he could manage and thank him again and again for everything he’d done?  (Arthur didn’t do hugs.  Merlin wasn’t supposed to be the exception.  Except maybe he was.)

Arthur stewed silently, staring out of the window.  He was so engrossed by the new list that he didn’t notice the door creak open until he heard Merlin’s voice quietly saying his name.

“Merlin!”  He took a half-step forward, not entirely sure what he was planning but assuming it would be coming from the previously unknown list, before he noticed the pallour of Merlin’s face.  (Merlin was usually pale, but this was something else.)  “Merlin,” he said again, his voice duller now, concerned.  “What’s wrong?”

Merlin cleared his throat.  His hand lept to the back of his neck to play nervously with a lock of hair there.  “Your father cornered me on my way here,” he said, not quite meeting Arthur’s eyes.  “That’s why I’m late, though it doesn’t seem to matter, really, because you’re already awake, though I notice you aren’t dressed, despite you saying so often that you can dress on your own-”

“Merlin,” Arthur said again, sternly this time, “breath.  Then talk.”

Being a disobedient wretch, as usual, Merlin’s next words came in a breathless rush.  “There’s an execution.  This morning.  I’m to help you dress and then you have to go.  Straight away.”

“A sorcerer?”  Arthur sighed as Merlin nodded miserably.  He placed what was a hopefully comforting hand on his shoulder: “I’m sorry.”

Merlin shrugged, knocking his hand from his shoulder.  “Don’t be.  There’s nothing you can do.  Nothing I can do.  I just…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

Arthur hesitated a moment and then made a decision.  “I don’t need you to attend me there, Merlin.  Just help me dress and then go to Gaius.”

He nodded.  He was uncharacteristically silent the whole time, and Arthur hated it.  Merlin was always standoffish and quiet on execution days - always had been - and so Arthur had always tried to keep him away, even before he’d known about the magic.  He was, after all, from a tiny, tiny village that, Arthur assumed, didn’t see executions very often, and he’d always seemed, well… sensitive.  To Arthur, anyway.  Or maybe it was just that he was younger than Arthur, though not by much.  Only about a year.  Maybe he was just small.  In any case, it had seemed like an act of cruelty to take Merlin to one - like kicking the tiniest, runtiest puppy in the litter - and it seemed even more so now.

Even if, Arthur thought as Merlin left, he longed for a friendly face nearby.

Arthur was not unused to facing executions alone.  Morgana always stayed away, keeping Gwen by her side, watching through a window if she watched at all.  She didn’t often watch.  However Arthur,  as the heir, was required to stand by Uther’s side, spine straight, head high.  (Uther didn’t count as company or a friendly face.  He stayed cold and silent, staring at the prisoner with “righteous” fury.)  (Arthur wasn’t supposed to want company, anyway.  He was supposed to be stern, determined to see justice down.  He wasn’t supposed to search for Merlin within a sea of sickened and bloodthirsty viewers.)

“Let this serve as a lesson to all,” Uther said.  His voice didn’t waver or falter through the whole familiar script.  “This man is judged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic.  And, pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that such practices are banned on penalty of death.  I pride myself as a fair and just king, but for the crime of sorcery there is but one sentence I can pass.”

The same words every time.  Arthur didn’t even need to listen to know what he was saying.  He watched, almost detached except for the thrill of horror that made him feel sick, as Uther raised his hand.

The thump of the axe and the gasp of the crowd brought him back to himself.  He turned his back.  The crowd gasped again, at him this time.  He father shouted, but he didn’t hear what he said.  He walked away, towards the castle.  His father was calling him back - later, he’d probably be in trouble for ignoring him in public - but he kept walking.  The crowd was almost silent, watching him.  They knew; this was a statement.  This was a rebellion.  (He wondered if Merlin would hear about this, what he’d think.  Whether he’d realise it was for him.)

He walked into the castle.  He wandered up to his room and ignored the food rapidly cooling on the table - no.  Merlin hated it when he let the food go to waste.  (“There are people who need this, Arthur, and you don’t even want it!”)  He poked his head out of the door and called for a servant: “Here.  Please make sure this makes its way to somewhere it’s needed.”

He sat at his table.

What was he going to do about… about… everything?  About anything?  Merlin, obviously, was the most pressing issue.  But the executions, the persecution of magic; Arthur couldn’t just ignore.  Not anymore.  Not when Merlin had shown him that it wasn’t always used for evil.

Of c

ourse, there wasn’t much he could do about it until he was king.  Apart from turning away like he had today, embarrassing his father, there was nothing he could do.  Uther had been poisoned against magic for too long; no amount of reason or pleading could change his mind about it.  The only option was to start afresh in Arthur’s reign, to try and heal the breach when his father was - though he didn’t like to think about it - gone.  

And, now that he thought rationally about it, it would be madness to try and attempt to court Merlin whilst his father was on the throne.  The punishment for Arthur, if it was discovered, which it would be because gossip spread quickly in Camelot, would be mild.  A scolding.  Public humiliation tops.  But for Merlin, there could - would - be lashes.  Or a night in the dungeons.  Banishment, maybe.

This list could wait.

If, of course, Merlin agreed to be courted.

Arthur would ask when he was king.

In the meantime, he took up his quill and fiddled with it.  It was true that he wasn’t much of a writer; Merlin tended to laugh at him and rewrite his speeches himself, though the spelling was so atrocious that Arthur tended to copy it out so he could read it.  However, his skills (abysmal as they might be) would suffice for this.

Merlin had got bored ages ago.  Gaius had sent him to his room to prevent him from getting underfoot, and there was only so much magic he could practice before the familiar chill of paranoia set in.  In truth, Merlin wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself on his days off.

So he decided to forget that he had one and go to Arthur’s chambers.

He knew that there wouldn’t be any servant in there.  Arthur never had anyone but Merlin assist him in changing for bed.  (Gossip suggested that the prince had been given George only once, on an occasion when Merlin was bedridden, and that it had been enough to put him off taking the risk again.  Merlin had no idea if it was true.)  So the plan was to assist Arthur in changing and then show him the magic.

Yes, he’d found the spell.  He’d been foolish, looking for new spells; the perfect one was already in his repertoire.  One that came to him as easily as breathing - one that he used to use on long cold nights at home, and that he’d used on the way back home to Ealdor before the fateful battle.

He didn’t bother to wait to be called in after knocking, and Arthur heaved a put-upon sigh.  (Merlin didn’t miss him sweeping a piece of parchment into a conveniently placed pile of unused parchment and books, but decided not to mention it.)  (For now, anyway.)

“How many times, Merlin?” Arthur drawled.  “We wait to be admitted after we knock.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said blithely, going to the wardrobe and digging out on of Arthur’s night shirts.  “You might have mentioned it once or twice.”

Arthur looked for a moment like he might try to continue the ancient argument but, having opened his mouth, closed it and gave the cause up for lost.  “What are you doing here?” he asked instead, getting up from the table and walking over.  “I’m fairly sure I gave you the night off.”

Merlin shrugged.  He couldn’t exactly admit he was bored - he’d never hear the end of it.  “I know you can’t get dressed on your own.”

Arthur made an affronted noise, but, again, gave up the argument before it began.  He didn’t resist as Merlin started to unbuckle ceremonial armour that he hadn’t bothered to remove after the execution.  When it was time for him to take over, behind the dressing screen, Merlin noticed that he was quiet as a mouse.

That, naturally, did not affect his well-honed aim.  His shirt landed squarely on Merlin’s head.

Arthur being changed was, ordinarily, Merlin’s cue to leave, putting the candle out as he passed.  Instead, he lingered, standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed and fiddling with the sheets in a poor imitation of being busy until Arthur grew impatient and demanded: “Spit it out, Merlin!”

“Can I…”  Merlin swallowed, bashful in a way he’d never felt in front of Arthur.  Perhaps because he’d never wanted to be so open.  “Can I show you something?”

Arthur nodded slowly, uncertainly.  He looked nervous.  Merlin smiled, hopefully reassuringly, and took him by the slightly oversized sleeve of his nightshirt, leading him to the fireplace.  They sat side by side on the plush rug and Merlin set the logs to burning merrily with a whisper.

“I know that what I told you about Nimueh… made you think differently about me.  About my magic.”  Arthur started to protest but Merlin shook his head, cutting him off, “You don’t have to lie.  You’ve been acting differently - I’ve seen you watching me.  I don’t mind, honestly.  I just… want to show you that magic isn’t always for violence.  You’ve only really seen it for violence, haven’t you?  Apart from that light orb.”

Arthur nodded mutely.  Merlin smiled, sadly.  “That’s a shame.  Magic can be beautiful, Arthur.  It just depends on the wielder.  It can create things from nothing.  It can heal, save people’s lives.  And,” he chanced a small glance and smile sideways, “it can tell stories.”

“Did you plan that speech, Merlin?”  Arthur asked drily, but there was an edge of something in his voice that suggested the sarcasm was a front.

“Yes.  Now shut up.”

Merlin closed his eyes and concentrated on the flames, raising one palm towards it.  He imagined the flames twisting, running into each other.  When he opened his eyes again, they were golden, and an image of a snake wrapping itself around a shield was hovering.  Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“What story is this?  Valiant’s?”

“No.  Yours.”  Merlin risked his concentration to look at Arthur.  He looked confused and Merlin smiled.  “This was the first time I ever believed that the Great Dragon was right - that you would be the greatest king Camelot had ever seen.  That you could unite Albion, be the Once and Future King.  You believed a servant over a knight.  No one else would have done so.”

Arthur’s jaw worked furiously in the way it always did when he was trying to keep a neutral expression.  Merlin deliberately looked away and let the image change, morph into a goblet pouring tainted wine onto the ground beside a small, crumpled flower.  “You defied your father to save a servant’s life.”

“Not just a servant,” Arthur said.  But it was only under his breath and Merlin wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to hear, so he pretended that he didn’t.  

Instead, he shot an orange gryphon down with flickering spears: “You fought for a common man to become a knight.”  A unicorn pranced around the scene in pure joy until it was all you could see: “You gave your life for your people and kingdom, even if it didn’t stick.”

Arthur was still silent and Merlin was still looking away.  He gave the unicorn wings, elongated the nose, gave it scales; the Pendragon crest looked out at them like he’d once shown his mother.  It flapped its wings and roared silently as Merlin said, “You risked everything to protect a sorcerer who had lied to you since the day you met him.”  He released the spell, letting the flames die down, lowering his hands and letting his blue-again eyes rest on the embers.

“That…  Merlin, that was…”  Arthur swallowed and fell silent, lacking the words to explain what, exactly, Merlin’s display had been.  Beautiful was an understatement.  Wonderful was inadequate.  He cleared his throat and stood abruptly, striding over to his table and digging through the pile of papers on his desk.  He grabbed the piece he’d been writing on, the one he’d noticed Merlin noticing, and thrust it into his hands.  Then, hesitating only for a moment, he sat back down the rug and let himself watch how the shadows danced over Merlin’s face as he read over the smudged and heavily edited writing that he already knew by heart:

I, Arthur Pendragon, Future King of Camelot, rescind the complete ban on magic.  I have, after careful consideration and close quarters experience with sorcery over the years, determined that magic does not, as my father believed, corrupt the individuals who learn it, or who are born with it.  Instead, magic should be treated as a sword is, as a weapon or being utilised as the user sees fit, as their own morals dictate, and therefore policed as the sword is.

“It’s, well, it’s a bit, er, unpolished.  It’s a rough draft.  For the future, obviously, and-”  Damn it.  He never struggled for words; why was it different with Merlin?  “-well, with your help, I’d like to…  Merlin, are you alright?”

At some point during the speech, Merlin had dissolved into silent tears, but when Arthur drew attention to it he let out a sob, dropping the parchment onto the rug in order to wipe his eyes with his jacket sleeve.  “Arthur, sire, I-”  He sobbed again, and Arthur wasn’t sure what to do until he found himself with an armful of weeping warlock.  He rubbed circles in the centre of Merlin’s back as he’d seen people in the streets do to children startled by his and the knights’ large horses and Merlin buried his face in the crook of his neck, clutching at his nightshirt with tight fists.

“C’mon, Merlin,” he murmured into his soft hair, “don’t be such a girl.”

Merlin laughed - choked by tears, but still a laugh.  “Don’t be such a prat,” he mumbled into Arthur’s shoulder.  He raised his head and smiled at Arthur.  Arthur let his hand drop from his back.  It hovered with the other near Merlin’s waist.  Merlin’s hands had just let go of his shirt - now they were pressed, open, on his chest.  He was closer to him than Arthur had registered earlier.  Close enough that he could see the creases in Merlin’s slightly watery eyes as he beamed.  Close enough that Merlin hardly had to speak above a whisper as he said, “Thank you, Arthur.  I thought we’d have to hide forever.”  Close enough that if it wasn’t for the fact it would put Merlin in danger, he’d only have an inch and a half to lean before his lips would brush against Merlin’s.

Close enough that Merlin only had to lean in an inch and a half before their lips pressed together.

There was a sense of vague amazement tingling somewhere close to the back of Merlin’s mind.  Partly that he’d actually done it - was doing it - was kissing Arthur.  Mostly that Arthur was kissing him back, baby-blue eyes widening for a brief moment before fluttering closed.  Merlin followed suit, and his whole world shrunk into the light touch of Arthur’s hands on his waist, gently pulling him closer, the subtle smell of lavender always radiated for a full day and a half after a bath, and how Arthur’s slightly chapped lips yielded to his and curved into a small smile.  He let his hands slip from Arthur’s chest, over his shoulders, hang loosely behind his neck.

When Arthur pulled away, Merlin didn’t even open his eyes before leaning back in.  But there was a hand on each shoulder stopping him, and when he looked at Arthur his face was serious.

“Merlin, we can’t.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur.”  Merlin looked away, suddenly mortified by his forwardness.  “I didn’t mean to…  If you didn’t want…”  He ran a hand through his hair and shuffled back, out of Arthur’s space.  “I shouldn’t have…”

“No, no, it’s not that.”  Arthur chewed on his bottom lip (Merlin tried not to look) and then stood.  He offered Merlin a hand up as he explained, “I wanted… but my father.”

Ah.  Of course.  Merlin nodded in understanding, “He’d be angry at you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried for.”

It was stupid, but Merlin couldn’t help his heart swelling slightly at that.  Clearly, Arthur cared for him in some way.  (Maybe the same way Merlin cared for him?)  “I’m good at keeping secrets,” Merlin pointed out, but his heart wasn’t really in it.  He knew Arthur wouldn’t give in.  (Not yet, anyway.  Maybe if…)

“I won’t risk it,” Arthur said sternly.  “I can’t risk you.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Merlin said softly.  He hadn’t dropped Arthur’s hand yet, so he gave it a squeeze.  “Maybe one day it’ll be different.”

“I can’t ask you to wait for me.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and smiled.  “You don’t have to.”  He darted forward for just a moment, kissed him on the corner of his mouth (a consolation prize) and was back before Arthur reacted.  He slipped into his normal chirpiness, even if it was a little forced.  “Now, into bed with you.  You’ve got a busy day of beating people up tomorrow, and I’m sure you want all your energy to yell at the knights.”

Arthur hesitated a moment, looking at Merlin with what was definitely regret.  Merlin kept his smile fixed for both their sakes, and they both pretended that they couldn’t tell it was fake, and it was only after Merlin left with a quiet farewell that he could lean against the cold, stone wall beside the door and close his eyes for just a moment, letting it all sink in.

Merlin walked back to his and Gaius’ chambers slowly.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted Gaius to be awake or not.  Did he want sympathy or not?  He hadn’t decided when he got there, but Gaius was still sitting at the table, waiting for him by the looks of things, so Merlin allowed himself the dramatics of flouncing over, slamming his head on the table, and groaning.

He imagined that Gaius was raising an eyebrow as he asked, “Everything alright, Merlin?”

“No,” Merlin mournfully told the table.  “No, it’s not alright at all.”

“Did your plan not work then?”

“Plan?”  Merlin lifted his head and blinked owlishly.  “Oh, right.  The plan.”  He hadn’t realised that Gaius had known about the plan.  Then again, Gaius tended to know his plans even before he did.  “No,” he said, “the plan worked perfectly.  Too well, in fact.”

Gaius stayed silent, the wisdom of the ages - and the fact he had spent a good deal of time with Merlin during his many moments of abject despair - reassuring him that Merlin could only last so long before blurting out everything in its entirety.  For one with such a huge secret to hide, he was rather poor at keeping secrets.

Merlin looked over his shoulder at the door, let a little tendril of magic seal it closed and let another ensure that there could be no eavesdroppers.  “He took out a draft for when he becomes king.  He’s going to legalise magic!”

Gaius frowned: “And that makes you unhappy?”

“What?  No, no, Gaius, it made me so happy, so happy I could…  I don’t know.  Burst?  I cried.  And then…”  He bit on his bottom lip, raising his eyes skyward.  “Goddess above - Gaius, I did a bad thing.”

Gaius frowned at him.  “Merlin.  What. did. you. do?”

Merlin swallowed, “I kissed him.”

“Merlin,” Gaius thundered, and Merlin almost recoiled, because he’d never heard him so angry before, “of all the stupid things-”

“No, no,” Merlin said, hurriedly cutting him off.  “No, he kissed me back!  So it was stupid but not as stupid as it could have been and if the opportunity arose it’s probably not so stupid that I wouldn’t do it again and-” he noticed Gaius’ look “-that isn’t what I meant to say.  It doesn’t matter anyway; he got worried about what Uther would do and he’s a noble prat so he stopped, and said we couldn’t do it again.  Until he’s king.  So I said I’d wait, and I will, but I don’t really want to, so I need advice.  And as… awful as it is for both of us for me to talk to you about it,  I can’t really ask anyone else.”

“I see.”  Gaius looked at Merlin, exasperated.  “What do you want of me, then?  Do you want to tell me your plan?”

“Hm?”

“Well,” he said, rolling his eyes, “you rarely perform one foolish act without a follow-up.”

Merlin scowled.  “You’re no help.  I’m going to bed,” he decided.  “That’s what I’m planning now.”

When the sun rose the next morning, Merlin was awake.  He was quite proud of himself, actually.  He’d never been on time once in his whole life, but he was going to be today.

Despite knowing this, he was a little offended by Gaius’ unmasked look of surprise.  “Where are you going?” he asked incredulously, watching Merlin tug on his jacket and boots over his nightshirt and yesterday's trousers.

“The forest,” Merlin said distractedly.

“And you’re not going to dress?”

Merlin started for the door, “No.  Don’t want to get muddy, do I?”

Gaius gave him a look.  A look that said, well, that’s never happened before.  “Should I inform the prince that you’ll be late?” he asked as Merlin left.

He poked his head back through the door, “No, thanks.  I’ll be on time.”

Merlin was on time.  Well.  He was “on time”.  Something he’d learned over the time he’d been with Arthur was that he actually preferred to be woken late, even if he complained in order to keep up appearances.  He got very grumpy when woken at the same time Uther and Morgana were woken and, honestly, Merlin did not want to deal with that.

So, what he actually was, was the preferred half hour late, but with face washed and his hair slightly neater than usual, with breakfast both plentiful and warm, and flowers fresh from the forest in a conjured vase carefully balanced on a tray.  He placed breakfast quietly on the table and jogged to the curtains, throwing them open with a cheery, “Rise and shine, sire!”

Arthur groaned irritably and pulled the cover over his head.  Merlin turned away from the curtains and put his hands on his hips.  Was Arthur really going to be difficult?  Then again… it had been a while and, after yesterday, he probably wanted to inject some normality into their lives.  Or maybe he just felt like being a cabbage-head.  “Come on.  Busy day today!”

The lump formerly known as the Prince of Camelot shifted a little before rolling over and poking his head out to grimace at Merlin.  “How are you cheerful?”

“I’ve been awake for ages,” he chirped.  “Got your breakfast.  Hurry up and eat it before it gets cold.”

Arthur rolled his eyes: “It’s been ages since I’ve had cold food.  Excluding when you’re angry at me.  Same with baths.  I know you heat it up for me.”

“Well,” Merlin said with mock severity, refusing to admit such a thing, “if you don’t get up soon it will be cold.”  Arthur made no move and Merlin sighed, as loudly as he could.  “Don’t make me drag you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Arthur said confidently.  “You can’t.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow.  That definitely sounded like a challenge to him.

With a smirk, he advanced on Arthur.  He pulled the covers back - Arthur didn’t resist, clearly think he was safe - and hooked his arms under Arthur’s and pulled as he could.  Arthur finally sparked to life, clinging to the bedpost, “Nope.”

Merlin tried for a few moments longer before giving on that approach.  He dropped him and then kicked off his boots.  He hurried to the other side of the bed and hopped up.

“What on earth are you doing?” Arthur asked, confusion making him let go of the post in order to flip over and look directly at Merlin.

“Getting you out of bed,” Merlin said.  Although, feeling for the first time how comfy it was, he completely understood why he didn’t want to leave.  Still, that wasn’t the point.  It was now a point of principle now.  With both hands (and maybe a touch of magic) he shoved as hard as he could.

Arthur fell on the floor with a thump and “princely” noise of surprise.

Merlin hung his head over the side of the bed and grinned sweetly at the prince glaring up from the floor.  “Come on,” he said.  “Breakfast!”

Alright.  Maybe Arthur had underestimated Merlin.  In his defence, however, he hadn’t exactly expected him to use magic.  Which, in retrospect, was a mistake.

Still, he was awake now (even though he was sat on the floor tangled in his cover) so he might as well eat.  He knew it wouldn’t be cold.  He walked over to the table but froze when he saw the tray.  Specifically, when he saw the vase of the dainty purple and blue flowers that grew at the edge of the forest and a few roses that Arthur knew Merlin must have magicked - they didn’t grow near the forest.

“Merlin,” he said, trying to sound offhand when, in reality, his heart had clenched rather painfully.  “In case it has escaped your notice, I am not a girl.  I do not require…” he grimaced at the thought, “wooing.  Especially when, as we’ve already established, nothing can happen between us.”

“Who says I’m wooing you?” Merlin said, equally offhand as he piled Arthur’s blankets back on the bed and started to straighten them out.  “They might be… friendship flowers.”

“Friendship flowers,” Arthur deadpanned.  He had a surprising amount of tolerance for Merlin’s terrible lying, but really.  Was that the best he could do?  “No one gives friendship flowers, Merlin.”

“Gwen does,” Merlin said stubbornly.  Arthur sighed.  He placed the flowers on his table.  They were rather pretty, in a girlish kind of way.  Maybe he’d give them to Morgana to liven up her chambers - she complained constantly about how grey it was.  Or…

He gave them another surreptitious once over.  They were arranged terribly and cut at odd lengths, and in short so obviously from someone as inept as Merlin that…

Well.  His chambers were a little bare, too.

After eating (and forcing Merlin to eat, too, because he was apparently “far too thin”) and being helped into his armour, Arthur went off to train the knights.  Which meant that Merlin had some time alone to work out his next move.

It didn’t take long.  After all, what did knights love more than sharp pointy things that could damage things?

Of course, Merlin had no idea at all what was valued in sharp pointy things.  Fortunately, he knew someone who did.

Gwen was always free at lunchtime and, when it was sunny, she always sat out on the steps in front of the castle, because Morgana thought it was important that she had some time off each day, and because the steps got the most sunshine.  Merlin felt a little guilty for accosting her, but he reminded himself that Morgana’s lunches - and therefore Gwen’s - lasted a little longer than most, because Morgana often took it with the king.

“Gwen,” he said, sitting next to her and using a voice designed to elicit maximum pity without causing worry (which he had perfected), “I need your help, please.”

“Of course, Merlin,” Gwen smiled.  She was a darling and, somehow, Merlin always forgot about that. He grinned and wrapped an arm around her as she asked, “What do you need?” and leant into his side.

“A sharp pointy thing,” he said.  She nodded thoughtfully, looking like she was trying not to laugh.  “Its a gift,” he clarified, just in case she thought he’d run mad and decided to get on for himself.  “But,” he lifted his coin purse out of his jacket and gave it a shake, so she could hear the desolate rattle, “I’ve only got this, though, so nothing…”

“Extravagant?” she suggested.  Merlin smiled sheepishly and nodded.

“Not a sword then,” she said, slipping out of Merlin’s one-armed hug and into business mode.  She stood and brushed the creases and out of her skirt.  Merlin followed, picking up her empty lunch basket and waving her off when she offered to carry it - “You’re doing me a massive favour, Gwen; I can carry a basket for you.”  They set off towards her blacksmiths, chatting happily as they went.

“So,” Gwen said, smiling wryly to herself, “cheap, sharp, pointy thing.”

Merlin shrugged: “Ealdor doesn’t specialise in weapons.  It’s a farming village.”

Gwen hummed.  “Everyone else seemed to cope alright when we brought them some.”

“Alright, alright,” Merlin pouted, “I don’t specialise in weapons.  There’s a reason Arthur gave up using me as a training dummy, and it isn’t because he wanted to be nice.”

Gwen giggled a little, still slightly shy whenever Merlin insulted royalty (although she was more or less used to it, now), and then started to search her shelves.  Merlin rocked on his heels and then leaned lightly against a wooden table.  It took a little more than two minutes for her to give a little yell of triumph and pull out a small dagger.  She climbed down from her footstool and handed it to Merlin.  “What do you think?”

He looked it over.  “I know nothing,” he reminded her with a laugh.  “But it looks great.”

She nodded with a sad smile, “I should think so.  It’s one of the last my father made.  The balance is perfect.”

Merlin looked up to her, stricken: “Gwen, you don’t have to-  I can’t take this.”

She tsked, shaking her head.  “Don’t be silly, Merlin.  It was made to be sold.  And I’m glad it’s going to the prince; my father would have liked that.”

“How did you…?” he trailed off and shook his head.  “Nevermind.”  He wanted to think that Gwen was what he’d claimed to be so long ago - a psychic - but more likely he was just transparent.

“Don’t worry,” she said, taking what was probably only half the value of the dagger and refusing to take any more, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Merlin put the dagger on the table and wrapped her in a hug, “Thank you, Gwen.  For the dagger and… you know.”  He pulled away and kissed her cheek before hurrying off, waving as he went.

Holed up in his room, Merlin inspected the dagger.  Knowing, as he had mentioned, absolutely nothing about daggers and other pointy things, he had to take Gwen’s word on the balance.  That didn’t matter though; he trusted her implicitly.  He did know, however, that it was perhaps a little plainer than the prince was used to.  (That wasn’t an insult to Gwen.  That was an insult to Merlin’s purse.)  He gave it a critical once over and then murmured spells under his breath: he engraved a small dragon on the handle and ignored how similar to Kilgharrah he’d accidentally made it; he placed some red gems that he didn’t know the name of in the hilt; he sharpened and shined it to perfection.  Then there was a spell for Arthur’s convenience, one that kept it on target for whatever he aimed for.  And then, finally, one for Merlin’s peace of mind: a mild protective charm that would keep low powered enchantments from affecting him for as long as it hung from his belt.

He inspected it once more and smiled to himself.  It was pretty regal looking, now.  Suitable for a prince.

He glanced at the window and left at a run - Arthur was already halfway back to the castle.

When Arthur came through the door, Merlin was just finishing up heating his bath.  (Thank the gods for magic.)  Arthur seemed more than a little surprised that it was ready without him having to ask, but Merlin ignored that.  “I’ve got a present for you,” he said.

“Oh?”  Arthur frowned, almost suspiciously, “Why?”

Merlin shrugged and pulled out the dagger.  “Tom - Gwen’s father - made it before… before, so the balance is perfect.  Or at least, Gwen says so.  You know I can’t tell.  I just added some finishing touches here and there.  And it won’t ever miss.”

He tried to sound offhand, giving him the dagger and taking up Arthur’s sword - Caliburn was its name, apparently - and started to polish and sharpen it, but he kept a careful watch on Arthur’s face.

Arthur’s face was something close to a picture; a tapestry telling a story.  It started with a deepening of the suspicion, and then a surprise, and then the face he pulled whenever he wasn’t quite sure what he was meant to be feeling, and then, finally, as he ran a hand over the dragon, a small upward tilt of the lips - almost a smile - that meant he was trying to pretend he wasn’t happy.

“You like it?” Merlin asked, giving Caliburn a final once over.

“It’s…”  Arthur looked like he was trying to think of an insult but then gave up.  “It’s very nice, Merlin.  Thank you.”  He placed it carefully on the table.

Merlin grinned at him like he’d been given a fantastic compliment - which, considering Arthur’s general skills with compliments, he basically had been - and walked over.  “Lift your arms up then.”

Arthur didn’t lift his arms.  He looked seriously at Merlin.  “Look,” he said sternly, “I know you think… courting me is going to make a difference, but it isn’t.”

Merlin frowned, wrinkling his nose.  “But you’re enjoying it.  Look, you kept the flowers!”

He looked over and cursed inwardly; he should have hidden them.  “That isn’t the point, Merlin.”

“What is the point, then?”

“The point is, Merlin, that we can’t…  We can’t.”

“But we already kissed, Arthur,” he pointed out.  “We already did.”

Arthur scowled.  “Yes, we did, but… and…  Merlin, would you just stop.”

Merlin blinked owlishly, looked crushed.  Arthur groaned, guilty, and ran a hand through his hair.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  “It’s just…  It hurts, Merlin.”

“What?”  Merlin frowned at him.  “I… what?”

“Knowing that nothing can ever happen, knowing why it can never happen…  To admit to feeling… what I feel… hurts,” he explained.  His voice creaked past the lump in his throat.  He swallowed.  “I’ve been trying not to think about it, about how I care about you more than anyone, about how I don’t know what I’d do if any harm ever came to you, but… it’s like trying not to think about a knife in my chest.”  He laughed without humour and started to pace; Merlin’s eyes burned into the back of his skull.  “How could I not think about you?  You’re constantly by my side.  Every day you’re helping me in and out of my armour, my clothes.  And now, with the presents?”  He sighed again - he felt like was doing that a lot lately - and looked back at Merlin.  He looked back at him seriously.

“Arthur.  If you were like me - if you were a farmer’s son, without duty, without a crown, if you were just you - what would you do?  Because I want you to do that-” he saw Arthur’s sceptical face “-please, Arthur, just do that, and then…  If you still want me to ignore… everything, I will.  For as long as you want.  Forever, if you want.  I’ll stop courting you and it’ll just be like it used to be.  But…”  Merlin looked down and cleared his throat, “I’ll admit that, whilst I will wait for you, if that’s what you ask, I’d rather not have to.”

Arthur stood frozen for a moment and then shifted his position, meaning to walk away, but Merlin wanted him to do what he really wanted - and who else wanted that for him? - and what he really wanted was… well, Merlin.

He took a few steps forward until he was well into Merlin’s personal space before he stopped, hesitated.  He brushed a few strands of dark hair away from his eyes so he could look into them properly, take in the blue and the brief flashes of gold that you could only see when you watched for them.  He saw that Merlin was looking at his lips (unconsciously, he thought) and smiled.  “May I?”

Merlin nodded, enthusiastic even as he rolled his eyes (“Wasn’t I just telling you to?”).

Arthur pressed their lips together, hesitant at first, then more confident.  He felt Merlin’s breath as he sighed happily and wound his arms around him, pulling him into a hug, still kissing him.  (Merlin liked hugs.  He knew this.)  He pulled away for a moment and whispered, “I’m sorry, Merlin,” before he leaned straight back it.

Merlin stopped him, both hands on his shoulders.  “What for?” he asked breathlessly, less than an inch away and giggling.  Arthur looked at how his cheeks dimpled and ran a thumb over them, laughing as Merlin swatted at him.

“Not doing this quick enough?” he finally answered, shrugging.

“Apology accepted.”  Merlin kissed the corner of Arthur’s mouth: “Now, get on with it.”

Arthur poked his side: “Was that an order, Merlin?  Are we forgetting who’s in charge here?”

“Not at all, sire.”  Merlin smirked at him, the insolent one that Arthur remembered being mentioned explicitly on his list, as he added again, “Now, get on with it.”

It was a long time before they finished.  Merlin had ended up being lifted onto the desk - he suspected that Arthur wanted him sat down so that he was taller for a change.  He tapped Arthur’s hand away when he offered it to get him down, “I’m not a lady, Arthur, whatever you say.”  Arthur just laughed at him and helped him down anyway.  He didn’t drop his hand.

Merlin looked out the window.  It was late.  Gaius was probably in bed.  He hoped he was in bed because it was certain that if he went back whilst he was awake, he’d notice the redness of his lips.  “I should go soon,” he pointed out quietly, regretfully, to himself and Arthur.  “If Gaius wakes he’ll wonder where I am.”  (Would he?  Or would he make assumptions?)  He made no attempt to move away and looked down at the stone floor.  “You won’t change your mind again when I leave, will you?”

“No,” Arthur promised.  “But… if you wanted… you could stay.  Make sure of it.”

Merlin looked up fast enough that his neck cracked and Arthur, seeming to realise suddenly what he’d said, blushed Pendragon red.  “I didn’t mean-” he sputtered.  “Not like that - I just - to sleep.  To actually sleep.”

“Oh,” Merlin said.  “That’s… good.”  It was good.  Neither of them was ready for that, he knew, but that didn’t stop the vague feeling of disappointment.  But, if he was honest, the idea of waking up to living, breathing, physical proof that Arthur cared for him in that way - that it wasn’t just another dream of something he couldn’t have - was… enough.  Perfect, really.  “Alright then,” he said, smiling, trying to sound like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Good,” Arthur said, beaming like he was trying to hide it.  “I’ll, ah - a nightshirt.  You need a nightshirt.”  Within a minute, Merlin was putting on Arthur’s spare, and two minutes after that, Arthur was shoving him across because “I always sleep on the left, Merlin.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and smiled a little, rolling over and pressing into Arthur’s side.  “Goodnight, Arthur.”

He fancied that he could hear the smile in Arthur’s voice as he said back, “Goodnight, Merlin.”

[orbemnews]

How We Tracked Secret Oil Deliveries to North Korea On an overcast day in May 2020, a satellite captures this image over the sea near Taiwan. At first it appears to just show clouds, until you look closer and enhance the image. What you see here is a transfer of oil to a ship that will end up in North Korea in a possible violation of international sanctions. Covert oil deliveries are crucial to North Korea’s economy and its ballistic and nuclear weapons program. Our investigation focuses on one way oil is getting to North Korea. We followed the movements of a single tanker and the opaque corporate structures that surround it. We spent months unraveling the story of the ship. It’s called the Diamond 8, and it’s been identified by the United Nations multiple times for its illicit trips to North Korea. We visited businesses, ports, and tracked tankers at sea, all to find out who was behind these voyages. What we discovered were elaborate networks, many that connect to the Singapore-headquartered oil trader the Winson Group, primarily through its Taiwan operation Winson Shipping. “Catering to your needs. Winson Group.” Our investigation, which includes findings from a new report by the research groups RUSI and C4ADS, reveals for the first time how the Winson Group plays a role in North Korea’s bid to get oil. The path from a single tanker to Kim Jong-un’s regime is convoluted. When we laid it all out in a flow chart, it looks like this — so we’re going to simplify it by focusing on the Diamond 8. And we’ll also look at two tankers that transport oil to it — the Ever Grandeur and the Superstar. These ships are connected by more than just their meet-ups at sea. They have ties to a handful of people who on the surface seem unconnected, but when we looked deeper, we found that most of the key individuals are linked to the same village in China’s Fujian Province. And they all have connections to both Winson Shipping and the Winson Group. Let’s first look at how the oil gets to North Korea. We analyzed photos and past videos of the Diamond 8, matched them with satellite imagery and took measurements to create a visual fingerprint. This allowed us to follow the Diamond 8’s movements last year. We confirmed our findings with experts who track oil tankers in North Korean ports. We’re going to show you two of its trips to North Korea. The first one, in February 2020, starts here, idling empty in the waters off of Fujian province, a region where oil smuggling has historically been rampant. It heads out and picks up oil from the Ever Grandeur near Taiwan and goes straight to North Korea. That trip is pretty direct. The one we uncovered in May 2020, not so much. But here’s what we know. The Diamond 8 sets off down Taiwan’s coast. It passes a port on April 30, where a second, much larger red tanker is loading up oil. That tanker, called Superstar at the time, follows the Diamond 8 to international waters, according to the ship’s transmissions. Cloudy skies that day appear to shield the operation from satellites, but as we saw, a hole in the clouds reveals the oil transfer. For three weeks, the Diamond 8 doesn’t enter any ports. It’s mostly just lingering in open waters. Then it sails north. Its required transmission signal disappears for eight days, but we found it during that window in this port in North Korea. The dimensions and features match the Diamond 8, a finding confirmed by experts. When we spot it again, its signal is back on and it’s back near Taiwan, meeting up with the Superstar to get more oil. We wanted to know who was behind the Ever Grandeur and Superstar, the two ships that supplied the oil to the Diamond 8, so we looked at shipping records to examine their history and management. Let’s start with the Ever Grandeur. We actually went and filmed it while it sat idle in the port of Kaohsiung in Taiwan. Only five miles away is the company that controls the ship. It’s called Glory Sparkling. Chien Yuan Ju, a Winson Shipping executive, told us they didn’t set up Glory Sparkling. But we found clues the companies are interconnected. Glory Sparkling’s address was on floors owned by Winson Shipping. Its address changed only after we started asking questions. And Glory Sparkling’s website, it was registered with the name of a Winson Shipping employee. We also have evidence showing that a high-ranking Winson Shipping manager named Zuo Fasheng, seen here with the Winson Group’s founder, Tony Tung, has also worked for Glory Sparkling. We found his signature on documents for both companies, including on paperwork for the Ever Grandeur. Officials from Panama, where the Ever Grandeur is registered, told us their records show Zuo Fasheng is currently listed as the operator of the ship. Now let’s take a closer look at the Superstar, the second ship supplying oil to the Diamond 8. It’s actually much more straightforward. Winson Shipping owns it, and they confirmed the May 2020 transfer to us, but told us the ship was leased to someone else when the operation took place. But they haven’t said who. Together, these details indicate how Winson Shipping is connected to both ships that provided oil to the Diamond 8, even after the ship had been publicly outed by the UN for illicitly delivering oil to North Korea. So let’s look at the Diamond 8 itself. Winson Shipping actually owned it until 2016. And from then until 2018, every company linked to it listed their addresses and office space as owned by Winson Shipping. When we talked to their shipping manager, he said that Winson Shipping sold the ship years ago, but he also made a bold statement: It’s “ten thousand percent impossible” that it ever went to North Korea. That’s not true. Our investigation and U.N. reports show the Diamond 8 has been to North Korea at least four times since late 2019. So finding out exactly who is behind the Diamond 8 is not straightforward or easy. To learn more, we had to look to Indonesia. The registered owner of the ship is Tan Jeok Nam, a 62-year-old retiree who lives here in a modest neighborhood. He told us that he was simply a sailor who couldn’t afford to buy the $1.4 million vessel. Something clearly doesn’t add up. So we set out to find who sold him the ship — at least on paper. When we reviewed the bill of sale, we noticed the seller appears to be the daughter of Hong Kong-based businessman Tsoi Ming Chi. Tsoi is also linked to the company that manages the Diamond 8. When we visited that company in Indonesia, there was no sign of a shipping business. It’s another dead end. So back to the retired Indonesian sailor, Tan. There’s one more thing you need to know about him. He actually used to work on oil tankers. One of the tankers belonged to a Hong Kong company owned by the late Wong Tin Chuk. Wong, Tsoi — these two businessmen have something else in common. They both have links to Winson companies, including through a leased office space, mortgages, and have exchanged ships with each other, according to a report by research groups RUSI and C4ADS. And there’s a personal nexus, too. Wong and Tsoi are tied to the Winson Group’s founder, Tony Tung, through the same village in China’s Fujian region, population 2,600. In fact, all three belonged to the village’s hometown club and the alumni association of the same middle school. Two of them have been accused of smuggling in the past. Take Tony Tung, for example. He’s faced multiple smuggling and bribery investigations. His only conviction was later overturned. Soon after he founded the Winson Group in the 1990s, Tung and his brothers were accused of smuggling cigarettes and oil into China, according to court documents and state media. One of Tung’s brothers was sentenced to life in prison. He served three years and was later pardoned. At the time of the trial, Tung had already left China. Over the last five years, Tung has stepped down from executive positions at the Winson Group and handed over the reins to his daughter, Crystal Tung. In a statement to The Times, she said, “The allegations against Winson Group are unfounded and false. Winson Group did not take any actions in violation of applicable sanctions against North Korea or any sanctioned countries.” After The Times asked questions about the company’s involvement in oil deliveries to North Korea, Winson Shipping Taiwan changed its name to Zheng Yu Shipping. Chien Yuan Ju, the executive who spoke to The Times, was also replaced as the official representative of the company. The mysterious retired sailor, the oil trader, the maze of companies — taken together, they expose an elaborate system that conceals one way oil is getting to North Korea despite some of the strongest sanctions in history, and how Kim Jong-un continues to defy the international community. As for the Diamond 8, it’s back in Fujian, China, awaiting its next orders. Its operators are now using a new trick: transmitting a fake ship name to hide its true identity. “Hey, this is Christoph, one of the reporters on this story. We spent months investigating who is providing oil to a sanctions-busting tanker that is delivering oil to North Korea. We looked at a lot of satellite images, reviewed corporate records and interviewed key players. It was a massive team effort involving reporters in four countries. What you’ve just watched is only a small part of our reporting, and you can find more details at nytimes.com/ visualinvestigations. If you have any other info on this story, we’d love to hear from you. And, of course, if you like what you’re seeing, subscribe to The New York Times. Thanks.” Source link Orbem News #deliveries #Korea #North #oil #secret #Tracked

[dat-town]

Kiss the cold away

Characters: (cursed)prince!Yoongi & princess OC ft. Snow Queen Elsa

Setting: based on Andersen’s Snow Queen with characters from Frozen

Genre: angst (but nobody dies because of that cliché thing called true love)

Warnings: -

Words: 4630

Summary: “The first kiss is to shield him from the cold The second kiss is to make him forget all The third kiss would be the last in row Taking his life away once and for all.”

Notes: a.k.a what if Elsa turned evil and became the Snow Queen feared by everyone? And yes, Daegumor is the fairytale kingdom name of Daegu I made up. Finally, it’s here, Yoongi’s part of my Once upon a fairytale collection.

Moodboard

In Arendelle, the winter is never-ending.

The snow hasn’t melt for a year now and the always cold weather has created a pattern of chilly days and even more freezing nights. Poverty, hunger and fear lace through people’s lives. All blamed on their ill-fated country with an incompetent child leader. A princess who was never supposed to rule but has no choice but to wear the crown after her elder sister, the rightful heir of the throne ran away last year. Only a few know the true story of Queen Elsa’s disappearance and they stay silent. So with time, the rumours are getting wilder and wilder until nobody knows anymore what the truth is. Why would they care anyway? It doesn’t change anything.

Arendelle’s promising days are long gone, now the kingdom is nothing more than a landscape of frozen rivers and snow-coated mountains in the midst of thick fog. As this bitterly and heartlessly cold season crept into the heart of the once flourishing country, every ally turned their back on them, leaving Arendelle behind to survive on its own. So when a foreign delegation arrives to make a business trade favourable for both parties, people get hopeful. Commoners greet the majestic ship with grand celebration, gold and jewels as gifts, cheering for the arriving young prince and his people.

Daegumor, a sunny and prosperous country from the South, doesn’t seem to mind the bad talk about the once great kingdom. The royal guest is the Crown Prince himself, a young and fine man already of age but still unmarried. It’s not a secret that Princess Anna’s people, especially her advisors want her to marry a prince, someone exactly like him before her coronation on her 18th birthday but she’s madly and stupidly in love with a poor ice harvester. Still, people hope endlessly that maybe things will change now because of the attendance of the southern kingdom’s heir.

Prince Yoongi makes his way off the ship with such grace nobody dares to doubt his blue blood. The end of his dress coat trails behind him as he strides down the ramp, finally setting his foot on the frosty but steady ground. His midnight blue uniform - made of the finest velvet of the seven seas - hugs his wide shoulders and the golden buttons shine in the pale sunlight. His eyes, much like to his hair, are dark as black diamonds but hooded because of the intensity of white all around.

“Welcome in Arendelle, Your Highness. I hope your voyage went smoothly without any inconvenience,” Princess Anna lunges forward to greet him personally as the carriages behind them are getting ready to take leave.

Anna's teal dress and strawberry-blonde hair in a bun make her outstanding as if she was the first snowdrop to grow once the winter passed. She has a bright smile on her face but sadness still swims in her turquoise blue eyes. So much pain for someone of such a tender age, so much responsibility to carry on such fragile shoulders.

“It was alright, thank you. Please, do call me by my name for the sake of our kingdoms’ friendship,” the young man, who also cannot be more than twenty-five, already speaks like a king, politely but prideful. His stern look doesn’t change at all but his deep voice is as gentle as musicians’ fingers on their beloved instrument. There’s a subtle, only slightly noticeable accent between his vowels that gives away he’s not around from here yet it doesn’t sway his confidence. The small smile forming in the corner of his mouth is reserved yet charming as he greets her. “Princess Anna.”

The heiress can’t help but blush as the prince takes her gloved hands in his own and bends down to kiss it out of courtesy. It only lasts a few second but the ravishingly handsome, raven haired royal manages to take her breathe away.

“Let me introduce you my fiancée,” Yoongi steps aside so that a girl his age could step forward from behind him. She bows her head politely to the soon-to-be queen of Arendelle and Anna does the same marvelling at the older princess’ beauty, her silent elegance and the soft fabric and unique style of her dress. Everyone heard the stories of the lovely princess who was promised to the Crown Prince but the gossips never once mentioned the longing she has in her heart for him. But the way she looks at him, like he’s her whole world, tells it all.

They change a few more words of formality until one servant warns them about the approaching nightfall and ushers them into the carriages. The newly arrived delegation doesn’t understand what the fuss is about but the temperature drops several degrees as soon as the Sun settles down and the freezing cold bites into their flesh. None of them comment on the unrealistically sudden change and Anna doesn’t go into further explanation.

Only the sparkling stars dotted on the nightmare dark sky warn them but nobody listens. Nobody ever does.

During the following days the business meetings go well. The consensual deal of trade agreement comes to existence soon enough but the delegation’s stay in the kingdom has been extended because of an unexpected snow storm raging along the shores. No ship can leave the bay safely until it passes.

However, the prince doesn’t seem to be too bothered by it. He has never seen such a sight before, a land fully covered in pearl white snow hence it takes his breath away. He marvels at the scenery but soon, he grows restless and gets bored of being locked in the heated palace playing cards with dukes and talking about politics all day long. There’s no one to stop him when he fetches a horse and goes out to explore the woods not caring about the warnings about the monsters in the mountains. According to him, these myths are nothing more than dark tales to tell the children before bed to keep them from wandering away. He takes only one brave enough man with him and they ride off on a particularly cold morning.

“He has the soul of a wild horse,” the engaged princess mutters watching him galloping farther and farther away from her window. She looks after him until the dot of his figure gets lost in the fog and distance. “He cannot be kept in a cage.”

Yet, they all are. They are basically chained up by jewels and the crown, she thinks bitterly as she plays with the golden ring on her fourth finger. The noble metal’s touch on her skin burns. It hurts.

Unaware of her doubts, Yoongi rides into the citrus daybreak. The rising Sun paints the snow in hues of rainbow. The melodious sounds of the awakening nature fills his ears and he dives more into the woods, even farther away from the beaten path. The more they go towards the mountains, the colder and darker the forest gets. The fresh snow falls heavily onto them.

“Maybe we should head back, your Highness,” the knight shouts over the wind’s whooshing but the prince pays no mind to him as his gaze sets on something particularly interesting in the snow. He squints harder to see the ice towers reaching skywards better behind the mountainside. There's something spectacular about the way the sunlight gleams on the smooth surface, something enchanting and before he knows, he leads his horse closer despite the wild blizzard. A little more in and he can’t hear his knight’s protests anymore, he just goes straight ahead uncontrollably as if he was in hypnosis.

At one point even his horse gives up and he has to go on by himself. Forward, just a little more, a dulcet voice sings in his head mesmerizing him and he can’t say no even though he’s freezing. His dry lips have turned blue and even the velvet padding of his clothes and gloves can’t protect him against the cold. He falls onto his knees only a few feet away from the gorgeous ice palace that stands tall and majestic in the middle of the storm. His cheeks are stained pink, bitten by frost as snowflakes are resting on his lashes and between his onyx locks like stars decorating the night sky.

What kind of monster would live in such a pretty place? he faintly wonders recalling the commoners’ gossip about the mysteries of the mountains. He’s on guard, looking around curiously but weariness overwhelms his body with a newcoming force as the numbing cold settles in his bones is dragging him into a dreamless sleep.

“Are you lost, little prince?”

The luscious, dreamy tone he thinks he has heard before becomes one with the wind, slipping away through his stiff fingers. When he looks up in exhaustion, a lithe figure is approaching him. The young lady who looks like the embodiment of winter’s Norse goddess in her crystal-blue, skin tight dress which is almost nothing in this freezing cold but she doesn’t seem to be affected at all. Her French braided, platinum blonde hair is swept over her bare shoulder and when she’s close enough, Yoongi catches a sight of the necklace around her uncovered, swan neck. On the silver chain there’s a golden pendant with the engraving of a crocus, Arendelle’s official symbol and the realization hits the prince hard.

“Queen Elsa...” he sighs in awe wondering if maybe he’s lost his right mind or fainted somewhere along the way and now he’s dreaming. What would the runaway queen do in the coldest pits of the kingdom? Why would she hide here at all? Nonsense!

“Shh… aren’t you cold, dear?” the girl touches his jaw with a single finger but it’s enough to feel the cold creeping under his skin in full force. “I know how to make you warm,” she coos, voice sickly sweet and the smile on her ethereal face is the loveliest lie of all.

Yoongi is a smart and resourceful man yet he's lured into her trap just like flies stuck into the web of spiders.

“Well then that would be really kind of you if you told me, m’lady,” he whispers with trembling lips as he shivers out of control. The weather here is something he has never experienced before, not even once during his trips to the North. The ice under his boots feels unbreakable, the snowflakes seems to rain down for ever and the piercing cold is freezing the blood in his veins, stealing the warmth away.

The queen's smile widens like sunsets’ colours bleed and spread around the scenery: slowly and beautifully. Yet, there's something deadly in the lovely curve of her lips he can't quite decipher until he feels the soft pair of them touching his chapped, numb lips. His eyes bulge but he can't move as if the cool air froze his mind, too. He mindlessly lets her devour his mouth in the middle of swirling snow and he just stands there, unmoving like a statue. The wind has woken, yet the prince doesn't feel the chilly breeze it brings, only the honey taste of a winter kiss.

It reminds him of a particularly starry night in a sunny kingdom far far away and a girl with long Jasmine-hair, big doe eyes and pretty, shy smile. The memory of his almost mistake, a kiss that should have never happened. Yet, it didn't feel any less wrong because it didn't happen for real after all. Wishful thinking and daydreaming on restless nights doesn't matter, right?

The memory triggers something in him and blinking, he feels as if he had woken up from a dream. He pushes her away immediately. He touches his lips in pure shock and looks at the girl in bewilderment, feeling ashamed and angry. A witch, she must be one, the thought crosses his mind but it's already late: winter touched him in the most impossible ways.

His coal black hair has turned the lightest shade of blonde, almost white matching his equally pale skin. The cold isn’t colouring his cheeks anymore while his eyes are sparkling like silver with shiny gloss.

“Somebody has your heart already, am I right? Doesn't matter, you won’t care soon anyway,” she says and moves so quickly like no human could. She locks their lips for the second time and the prince is overcome by eternal calmness. Suddenly, it feels so right like nothing before. He's kissing back with the same fervor and only pulls back when he has to gasp for air. However, when with the newfound oxygen filling his lungs, he moves to close the gap between the two of them, eager to taste that sweet mint aroma on the adored lips again, Elsa pushes him away with a fake shy giggle.

“Patience, little prince. We have all the time in the world for ourselves. Don't you want to see our kingdom?”

“Yeah, of course, my queen,” he nods mesmerized since he knows no other order that his beloved queen’s words. She flashes a satisfied smile and turns towards her ice residence. Yoongi follows her without a second thought, like a puppet tugged by strings.

Somewhere in the depth of the magical, snow and frost covered forest, an old tale is told, sang as a sad lullaby in memory of every cursed prince visiting its land.

                              “The first kiss is to shield him from the cold                                 The second kiss is to make him forget all                                   The third kiss would be the last in row                                    Taking his life away once and for all.”

The guest princess is alone in her chambers, shivering from cold even in front of the fireplace. She doesn’t like it here, not at all. She loves the warm touches of Sun on her skin and the sounds of the sandy beach kissed by the waves. She misses home but she would follow Yoongi anywhere and everywhere. Arendelle, the winter kingdom is no exception.

“The prince. He’s gone!” a panicky voice roars as he bangs on the palace’s gate. Looking out of her granite window, the princess sees the knight whom the prince has left the place with. He has two horses with him but no trace of Yoongi.

The princess gasps in fear and hurries down the stairs not caring if she steps on the edge of her uncomfortably thick skirt. She blames the stupid cold for that too.

“What happened? Where is he?” she enquires as soon as knight steps into the hall.

She’s eager to know more, unsatisfied with so little information. What on Earth does he means by he’s gone? He simply can’t be! He’s the crown prince of Daegumor, he will rule one day with her by his side. The burning flame of his energy cannot die out so flatly, so insignificantly lost in a foreign forest.

The knight bows his head and then stares straight into her eyes regretfully. His voice doesn’t waver when he answers:

“I am sorry, Your Highness. We came upon a snow storm in the depth of woods and I lost him when we were riding near the cursed land.”

The word cursed sends chills down her spine. Yoongi, a man so sure of himself and his principles, can never believe in witchcraft. He would call it trickery and it could be his undoing.

“Then what are you waiting for? Form a search team and bring him back!” the princess demands desperately, causing a scene in the huge hall of the palace. She doesn't care about the pitiful glances on her or the fear in the eyes of knights, she just wants her fiancé back. Her Yoongi.

“With all due respect, but no man dares to go that close to that place since nobody came back from there,” the knight tells her tentatively, trying not to upset her even more. He fails even though he’s only telling the truth.

“It’s true,” Princess Anna agrees with a nod, her sad green eyes dull from grief and something nostalgic. Maybe she also tried to enter the land before but she couldn’t make it through the storm. Or what’s worse, maybe she lost somebody there, too.

“I don’t care,” the Daegumor princess almost screams. She can’t just sit back and wait. She can’t return to their kingdom without the heir. And without the other half of her heart.

She turns to the tired man who just returned with the bad news. “Take me until the point you can, and I will go alone from then.”

“But Princess...” a few people gasp while others are whispering, calling her crazy. Maybe she is, she doesn’t protest.

“I am sorry for troubling you, Your Highness, but I didn't know Arendelle was full of cowards,” she says bitterly but not out of spite. She doesn’t want to offend the soon-to-be queen on purpose. She’s only being honest because that's why she has to take actions herself. And if she fails, her spilled blood will be their fault. Not that she would hold grudges because she’s aware of the consequences but politics are just such menace things these days.

“We simply cannot lose more men to an impossible mission. But I am truly sorry to disappoint you and your country.” Anna says as sincere as ever. She will be a good queen, anybody can tell. She cares, but she cares for her own above all. Understandable but the older princess would rather die than to leave the prince behind. The Arendelle royal seems to suspect this as well because when she steps closer, her voice is soothing like goodbye words of a mother:

“Let me give you an advice. If I cannot stop you from going, then remember this: the cold takes away everything from you and it will numb what makes you human. There's only one thing that can save you and your prince...” she whispers and points where her heart lies.

“Good luck!” she bids her farewell with a cautious smile, not sure if she should but the fiancée can’t hear her anyway over the wild thumps in her chest.

A memory comes back to the Daegumor princess as bright and vividly as morning sunrays cut through dark clouds. It’s just the two of them alone: she and the crown prince playing in the gardens as reckless children. Before they knew politics, before the world has ruined the pure goodness in their hearts, they were nothing more or less than childhood best friends. Friends that were separated because of studying abroad and other duties at the age of twelve. They haven't seen each other and only exchanged long letters until the day of their engagement that was arranged without their accord or knowledge. Politics does not need the opinion of children, their parents said and they sat at the dining table in silence. What had been done couldn’t be undone anyway. Their protests would have only caused a scene. Proving them to be exactly what they were thought to be: kids.

“I will learn to love you like that,” the prince promised her that night, at the door of her chambers. He has always been a cute child but growing up he has become devilishly handsome and she couldn’t control her trembling, weak heart. She would have sworn he must heard it too when he kissed her on the cheek whispering goodnight into her skin. She blushed poppy red as she watched him walk away.

Like what? A lover? The thought echoed in her mind, stirring up the long lost puppy love buried deep in her heart. It has been years, they both came of age, ready for marriage by the laws. She wasn’t that little girl anymore who admired the prince’s light moles on his cheeks or that he seemed to know the answers for all her questions. Yet, she still caught herself staring at Yoongi’s sharp jaw, the chocolate of his eyes and his beautiful pianist fingers. She was still in awe whenever he talked in such a polite and clear tone, his intelligence shining. She has heard he excelled in all his classes, that he could speak multiple languages and he never lost in chess. However, it was his gentle touch and soft gaze that made her even more enamoured.

She was in love with her fiancé, wasn’t it the best thing? Yeah, it should have been. But in Yoongi’s eyes, she was nothing more but an old playmate, he didn’t even see her as a woman (like that, he said). So wasn’t it the worst thing after all?

She snaps out of it as her teeth chatter in the icy cold weather that’s creeping under her skin. She has way passed the cursed land’s edge, she’s vulnerably on her own with snow in her dark hair and tears in her eyes. She doesn't need a map, nor a knight to accompany her any further. She is drawn by a heart that doesn’t even know it’s calling for hers.

The astonishing sight of the ice palace takes her breathe away. It’s glorious, parading in the colours of winter: blue walls and white hoarfrosts. Beautiful in a deadly way with its cutting sharp towers and icicles hanging down from everywhere. It isn’t as dark as they said in the rumours but it gives off an intimidating atmosphere, an eerie feeling piercing through flesh right up to the bone marrow, threatening to rip her apart.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

A raspy voice declares, tone raw and cold, body made of smoke, hiding in the shadows. But the princess doesn’t need to see him to know it’s him. She would recognize his voice out of thousands with her eyes closed.

“Yoongi!” she cries out, relieved. When it’s just the two of them, there’s no need to call each other so formally and in blind happiness, she enjoys the way the syllables of his name leave her mouth as she rushes to him, towards the source of his voice.

There’s snow and ice everywhere she looks, but no living creature comes her way, not a single soul. She’s turning around, walking up and down, not giving up, not even when she starts to think she has been hallucinating.

“Go away!” the voice speaks again, this time, much closer. When she turns, suddenly she’s facing with a boy looking eternally young: eyes as pale as the sky during snowfall and hair so silverish blonde as the full moon in all its glory. For a fleeting moment, she doesn’t recognize him and when she does, it leaves her stunned.

“Yoo… Yoongi, oh gods, what happened to you? Are you alright?” she asks in concern, fingers gently caressing his colourless face. He looks like a flawless statue and even feels as cold as marble. She can only be sure that he’s alive because his lips, the lightest shade of pink, are moving when he speaks:

“Leave, this is my last warning,” he speaks so rigidly as if she was merely a stranger, a burden. The passion once burning in his dark irises is gone by now, replaced by dull emptiness masking his striking features.

“Do... don’t you know who I am?” the princess stammers, caught off guard and wonders if he hit his head.

“I have no idea who you are and I absolutely don't care. It has always been me and my Queen,” Yoongi answers with a wintry smile while shoving away her hand. His words burn like holding ice or looking into his fierce eyes for too long.

The princess has heard of the Queen, the ruler of this unforgiving wasteland. People seemed to fear her and her power, a magic unknown to mankind. A witch, an abomination, a monster, they whispered about her in the dark.

“Yoongi, we are engaged, please… Oh that hurts,” the girl hisses in pain when the prince grabs her wrist and yanks her closer harshly. His mouth is brushing against her right ear softly as he growls Don’t lie to me! and his grip on her is stronger than ever. She trembles.

The princess gets drunk on his sudden closeness, the way he pulls her into his aura like he never did before. Yoongi, a good friend, always so respectful of boundaries never held her like this no matter how much she wanted him to do.

“Yoongi, please! Don’t you remember? You are the Crown Prince of Daegumor. We need to go home,” she tries to talk some sense into him, holding on her belief that he isn’t a hopeless case, that the witch that the villagers are muttering about hasn’t poisoned his mind too much. It doesn't seem to be working when he steps back and pushes her away.

“This is where I should be, nowhere else.”

She stumbles backwards but catches a hold of herself just in time. He’s only confused, she tells herself. A white lie that she wishes to believe.

“Please come with me… I won’t go without you. Come back to me,” she pleads as she takes his face into her hands and mistakenly thinks - she dares to hope - that he's leaning into her touch for a moment.

“I warned you,” the prince grits his teeth, sounding cruel and weaves his hands roughly around her thin neck. His fiancée gasps for air desperately while begging for mercy with her huge, sad doe eyes.

He will kill me, she thinks briefly and it almost feels like salvation if she can't have him anyway.

“Please… I love you,” she cries with the last ounce of energy she has, salty tears streaming down on her pale face onto his tightening grip of hands.

A world stops for an eternal moment and Yoongi lets her go abruptly. He blinks dumbfounded as if he woke up from a nightmare, chest heavy. He looks at his hands in disgust then at his fiancée who is busy with catching her breath so desperately. What has he done?

He can't believe he got so lucky. A girl so blindingly beautiful like her loves him. Truly, with that gold heart of hers, because that’s the only way to break the curse. She saved him when his corrupted heart almost killed the one he loves the most. Oh because he does love her. So much! Even if it's selfish of him and even if he doesn't deserve such a bright soul.

Despite pushing her away, acting distant and formal, he has always loved her in the most innocent ways: dreaming of holding her hand and kissing her cheek. But meeting so many years later, after their engagement, a raw kind of hunger threatened to consume him in whole: the urgent need to devour her and to worship every inch of her body at the same time. No matter how apathetic he acted, his blood boiled every single time she accidentally touched him. He swore to himself he would protect her from everything but in the end, it's him who hurt her the most.

“Y/N...” he whispers her name, so lovely on his tongue, all over again like a mantra burying his face into her neck, tears spilling onto her snow coated dress. She soothe him with sweet words and lulling caresses on his back, telling him it's okay because she has always known: being cold doesn't mean you can't have a warm heart.

The Snow Queen is watching the future King and Queen of Daegumor leave her land. She doesn’t stop them, why would she? There will always be clueless princes coming to her to ease the loneliness she's sentenced to. They don't call her kingdom cursed for nothing, she thinks bitterly, turning her back on them.

The snow continues to fall. Endlessly like tears.

[his-pair-of-spare-glasses]

The tale of ice and fire

(also available on AO3. Come and say hi ^^)

Once upon a time, when the world had yet not taken its current shape, six mighty peoples reigned over Eos.

In the High Mountains lived the Archaeans, a proud tribe with strong legs and a strong will. Their legs would take them over far distances in no amount of time, every step a quake of the earth. They were not a people great in numbers yet it was known how ferociously they would greet those whom they despised. The leader of the Archaeans – Titan as he was called – had no interest in playing friends with the other nations, yet none of them truly deserved their wrath either.  It thus was a quiet state of observation in distrust.

The Depths of the Sea were home to the Hydraeans, nimble folk as relentless as the tide. Clad in finest pearls and fabric they stepped over whatever was required to achieve their goals, sacrificing the petty for their aspirations. The women of this folk were of strong character, which lead to their head being a powerful women, worshipped under the name of Leviathan. Her eyes were full of despite and conceit, yet the trade with the nations went far too well to let anything disturb this state.

The lush green Plain was the realm of the Fulgurians, a wise kin that used the power of lightning to feed their mechanic cities with energy. They had a very good sight, being granted with sharp eyes but it was not only in observational terms they saw. Being granted a long life, they did not only observe space but also time. Therefore the capital’s Bibliotheca held copies of the greatest records of history and prophecies for what was yet to come. The wisest of the kin was Ramuh, his age far over a millennium, who constantly feared the balance of the world to collapse.

The Frosty Fields in the northern parts were inhabited by what were called the Glaceans. In contrast to the icy surroundings they were the most gentle people one could imagine. They could warm your heart with a smile, yet their touch could shatter you into splinters of ice. Thus they avoided physical contact with any of the other nations, yet cherished the conversations they had together. The ruler of this people was a benevolent young princess named Shiva, who had the most radiant smile of them all.

The Desert of the South was held by a great king and his people, fickle and bursting with passion. The Infernians had great skills in taming fire to their will, making magnificent blacksmiths. Both men and women had long and pitch black hair, radiating immense heat. They could send the antlers sticking to their heads, various in form and size to flames, so they might burn those who came to harm them. Their king was elected once every 20 years by games and competitions, so that the strongest man would be leading the people. At that time, the kingdom saw his youngest king, a well built and strong young man who went by the name of Ifrit.

The last of the people was settled in the centre to those five. A great kingdom with a clan of knights, known as the Draconians. Strong and majestic people, surpassing all other nations in terms of height. Being the most numerous population with the biggest land they were the ones to hold annual festivities and the Summit of the Six to keep the order of the world in balance. Their mighty king Bahamut, the most potent swordsman of all Eos was also the guardian of the Book of Cosmogony, holding all the laws and rules that were to be followed to keep the world in balance. An ancient book, said to have been forged by the very first Six. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was the year of years, that only came to pass once an eternity. The first time, so it was told, it was the very year the Ancient Six had completed the Book of Cosmogony. The year of the black sun lay upon Eos. To commemorate this great deed and the balance that had been brought to the world, the six nations were planning fantastic festivities, that should take place during the month of starfall, when the black sun would peak. This phenomenon, you must know, was nothing like we experience when night is falling. It is a mystical darkness that builds up and vanishes over half a year’s span. What stunning view this must have been. All people came together at the kingdom of the Draconians to have a feast of drinks, long and exuberant meals and spectacles and dances of all sorts. It was a festival, where they forgot what divided them, where they cherished what they had in common – at least as far as it was appropriate. The Glaceans kept their physical distance, yet enjoyed their dancing in a little broader space. The Archaeans decided to drink with the Fulgurians and the Hydraeans kept their pointed comments about the Infernians to a minimum.

The opening of the festivities was, at it always had been, a presentation of arts by every single one of the Six. The Titan offered a demonstration of the art of battle, precise movements and grumbling soil. Bahamut too set on the art of battle, yet he amazed with swift, light movements and skilled sword dances. Leviathan and Ramuh both raised a song from each of their nations, both beautiful and unique in style and Shiva and Ifrit both showed a dance. It could have been a smooth running night of ceremonies, but things should turn out differently. Ramuh had already been plagued by casual headaches, which he took as symbol for something unexpected and scandalous to happen. Yet he had decided to keep quiet about it. For now.

It was Shivas turn to represent her people, and as she walked onto the stage she could feel all eyes lingering on her. The first time she had made her official appearance as one of the Six, everyone had been frozen in amazement of her grace and beauty and now still that amazement had not faded as it seemed. She started dancing elegantly and soft sprinkles of ice were filling the air around her, reflecting the torchlight in the colours of the rainbow. Her swift movements made her look almost like something divine. It was exactly this thought that ghosted through his mind, as young Ifrit saw the princess for the first time. He had heard of her beauty but as the nations were kept apart by law, he had never seen her before. His deep brown eyes took the colour of dancing flames, as his gaze locked with the clear blue eyes of the dancing lady. May this moment last forever he silently thought, when he was suddenly startled by the hurricane of applause, signalising that the dance had come to an end. When she left the stage to sit with her people again, she held her eyes locked with the young Infernian all the way. When she passed him, he could feel the chilly aura emerging from her skin and it sent mysterious shivers through his spine. Once she had passed by, his body felt unnaturally hot, his blood almost boiling in his veins. It had to be because of the sudden change of temperature, no doubt. Still there was something about the princess that would not let go of his mind.

Now the festivities truly began and food and drinks were shared together with lots of laughter. Ifrit, still puzzled and mesmerised from what had happened before had his eyes focused on something invisible, as he suddenly felt a familiar tickling running up his back. „You are staring, you know?“, a voice with the sound of thousand crystal chimes reached his ear. Spinning around in a rush, he saw Shiva standing there, smiling at him. His heart was swelling in his chest. „I—didn’t mean to...“ She chuckled. „It is fine, you know? Come, let us talk somewhere in silence, shall we?“ She had reached out her hand towards the Ifrits arm, feeling the heat climbing up her wrist but then remembered, that she was not to touch anyone besides her own kind. She wanted to. But it was not appropriate. Young Ifrit, his eyes lit in vibrant colours only managed a nod and followed the faint trail of frozen air, Shiva left behind. They walked a while, bodies close to each other, yet not touching. Yet the feeling of one‘s opposite tingling under the skin was mutual. They came to the shore of the big river, crossing the Draconian land and they decided to sit down together. After a while of staring into the water, Shiva looked at the young Infernian, his cheeks flushed in darker red than she had ever seen. Almost as red as  one of those delicious apples she thought and smiled at him. This made his blood boil up and he hastily jumped up to his feet, his back facing her. „I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have! Just don’t mind me!“, he blurted out, fists clenched at his sides. The princess laughed gently as she too decided to raise her posture. „Oh, but I do? Will you... not look at me?“, she asked a little shyly. The man noticed something about the change in her tone and turned around again with a quick motion. With her hand shyly placed in front of her mouth, she looked right into his burning eyes, flickering strongly. „Your eyes“ she said. „They are good.“

Ifrit darted towards her, yet his outstretched hands stopped just a few centimetres over her shoulders.  As he realised what he had tried to do, he slapped both his hands against his mouth, mumbling apologies over and over. Shivas smile had vanished for a startled yet not scared expression. She still felt a bit of the heat Ifrits hands had radiated onto her shoulders. It felt good. Fascinated she took a step closer, when Ifrit screamed: „Please, don’t come closer! I don’t think I can stand it!“ His head snapped up and his eyes locked with Shivas. They were passionately burning in different hues of yellows and reds, his face fully flushed while he could spot something that looked like sparkling crystals in her eyes. Before he could catch a clear thought, it was out.

„I think, I might have fallen for you.“

After a short moment of silence, Shiva took a few steps closer until their chests almost touched. She lifted both of her hands, fascinated by the being that was Ifrit and stopped right below his chin.

„Can I... touch you?“

She was scared of what might happen. Maybe her blood would cause him to instantly freeze to death, maybe she would be burnt up into a pile of ashes in an instant. But something told her, that she wouldn’t. That they wouldn’t. And that Ifrit thought the same.

When she took his face into her hands it sent burning, stinging and tickling through the spots where their bodies were connected. Washes of hot and cold ran up and down their spine, sending sparks of energy though all of their bodies. But it was nothing lethal. It was not really pain either. It was more of a thrill. Like when you are falling a long long way but still know that you will be safe in the end. She released Ifrits face and looked at his eyes in astonishment. They had now taken a colour similar to liquid gold. His flustered, nervous expression was wiped away. Instead he was smiling the most beautiful of smiles Shiva had ever seen.

„Now it’s my turn I guess?“

He cupped her icy chin with one hand, igniting that magical sensation once again. He trailed her lower bluish lip with his burning thumb and then slowly leaned in to press his lips softly against hers.

The festivities of the black sun were long. Every now and then the blazing king and the crystal princess vanished from the public space to pursue their own little spark of happiness, melting together passionately. The time they spent together was a blessing. It must have been a gift of the black sun, given to only the two of them.Or so they thought.Four weeks could be long, but they could also be very short. The time had come for the six nation to part their ways again, only to meet at the next festivities. For the Six it would be the next Summit, yet nobody knew when it would be held. Unnoticed from anyone else, both Ifrit and Shiva shed bitter tears of sadness on the way to their homeland. When would they see each other again?

Ifrit was a rather emotional  man and just shortly after returning to his kingdom, he developed the habit of impatiently pacing around in his chambers. He could not find much sleep at night, stayed absent at his meetings. All he could think about was the Glacean snow princess, that had stolen his heart and enchanted his mind. He wanted to see her again. As fast as possible. One day – the sun was still half covered with her dark veil – Ifrit was again pacing up and down as suddenly a man in a robe appeared out of nowhere. Startled and irritated Ifrit yelled „Who are you?! Get out of here!“, but the man only grinned a wicked grin, placing his finger on his lips. „Now, we don’t want to attract too much of attention, do we? After all, I came to grant your dearest wish, you see?“ Ifrit, who had turned his back on the man swirled around. „You mean, you can arrange it for me to meet her?“ The man in the cloak snickered as he noticed the hopeful ring to the Infernian’s voice. „Well yes? It actually is pretty easy. But tell me: are you willing to give a sacrifice for her?“ Full of determination Ifrit answered: „I would give everything for her.“ The mysterious man laughed. „Brilliant! Then this shall be taken care of. Don’t forget to thank me later~“ He was just about to vanish as Ifrit called out to him once again. „Just who are you? And how can I thank you?“ The wicked grin only grew wider. „Let’s just say: I’m a descendant of the sun and a dear friend to you. Just make sure you enjoy it, yes?“ Before anything else could happen, the man vanished into nothingness. Ifrit could not yet grasp what he had done but he tried to keep his spirits high. He would hold her in his arms again. Soon.

Only a week later, the Infernian kingdom was plagued by a pandemic disease.  People died in the streets, one by one out of nothing and no reason was to be found. The food was not poisoned, the waters were clean. The king did not know what to do and desperately asked Bahamut for help. Only a union of the nations arranged by the Summit could help him in this disastrous situation. His plea was heard and the Summit was held. It was there when he saw Shiva again and realised, what he had done. He wanted to take her in his arms, lament about what happened, and ask her for advice, for comfort. But here this was not permitted. This was an official place, not some hide and seek during flamboyant festivities. This was not what I meant, when I said „see her“ he cried out in silence as the meeting began. It was his first Summit, as the leader of the Infernians was still young and fresh.  Studying about those meetings he did, yet he feared to do not know enough to take on his task. His pleading eyes occasionally would shift to Shiva, who in return gave him a sorrowful look. No solution was to be found. Leviathan accused him of being selfish and not mature enough to reign a kingdom and that it was his fault if things were going the wrong way. Titan only spoke up once to state that they had no business with the desert. As none of the other nation were plagued by the strange disease so all they could do for now was observe how the whole situation would proceed.

Denied of help Ifrit left the Summit with a strong feeling anger and despair. Before he fully left the neutral ground, Shiva managed to catch up to him. „I know that nation leaders are not to cross each other’s borders, as it bears the threat of nations forming an alliance and destroying the balance which is strictly forbidden. But... let us unite, just you and me at the border to the high mountains. It is neither of our lands and has a high chance of letting us meet unnoticed.“ She looked into the dark and troubled eyes of her beloved, her face full of sorrow. „Will you be there?“, he asked with an unsteady voice. „I promise. We will meet at dusk. I will wait for you.“

And so they did. The mountains tinted in a brownish violet, the sky torn in between day and night at a little lakeside, just few kilometres into the lands of the Archaeans. They had thoroughly inspected to be unnoticed and alone, when the lovers flung their arms around each other. The sparkling tension, faintly mumbled „I missed you“s and much more untold words of love, enveloped in sparking kisses. As their minds came to ease, Shiva asked Ifrit to tell her what had happened the last days. And so he did. That he had missed her so and that one day some hooded man had come to him, telling him to grant a wish by the black sun. Then the disease washing over his lands, leading to the chaos he now lived. As he was telling his story, the Glacean’s eyes widened in horror and she covered her open mouth with her hand. „You made a wish over the black sun?! And for yourself you say?“ Ifrit looked puzzled, his eyes alarmed as he nodded slowly. How could he not have been taught this until now? As a king it was his duty to know something like that, everybody did, not only the leaders. The black sun was sacred. It was forbidden to wish upon her, let alone for self-serving purposes. What had he done?! The Glacean cried bitter tears, as she knew the penalty to this contempt. As the burning man took her into his embrace, she thought about telling him. But she did not. Instead she pleaded him to keep quiet about this, not to tell anyone about his wish he made. She would try to help finding a solution she vowed, that he should not worry and that she will be there for him before the tears started to flow along her cheeks again. Ifrit, scared of what might await him now held her close and buried his face in her silken hair. They were to focused on themselves to notice the silhouette, that hat stood in hearing range for quite some time, or the soft tremors of an Archaean, taking his leave and hurry home.

Just few days later, Shiva was summoned to attend another Summit. Peculiarly, only five of the nations’ leaders were present. Ifrit was missing. Her heart thundered in her chest. What was this all about? Curiously it was Titan who rose to speak. „I have been told the cause of the Infernians‘ plague. It must have been their king, who made a selfish wish upon the black sun.“ Muffled gasps and screeches were audible through the hall. „And not only that. There are rumours of an affiliation with one of us here, yet I will not speak up who is rumoured to be his partner in crime. It is only truth I want to speak.“ Titan’s eyes rested a hint longer on the Glacean princess, letting her realise they had been overheard. Though Titan too had found a liking in her, yet not as strong and passionate as Ifrit had. He wanted to spare her a punishment of her own. Her eyes went white just for a moment as the Hydraean spoke up. „Then he has to take the Crystal’s punishment! It is written in the laws!“ „She speaks correctly“, said Ramuh. „The law says, that once a sacred misdeed is committed by one of the Six, the remaining Five are to use what magic powers they posses to enrobe him in a crystal, conserving him for half an eternity, eating him up alive bit by bit. It is required to pay for his sin. None other punishment shall be executed and the sinner is not to be spared of it, not even by death.“ Shiva’s chest tightened. She had the impression she could not breathe, but she could not let the other Four notice.

„So be it.“ Bahamut concluded. „The punishment shall be executed next dawn in the catacombs of these halls. Be sure to come.“ And they disbanded.

Shiva gasped for air, as she was swiftly running through the night of the Desert land. She could not let this happen, she would do anything to save her beautiful black haired lover. She knew she could not save him. But she would. Below the window of his palace chambers, she called out for him, her voice nothing more than a soft and silvery chime. A sound he would have known everywhere. He rushed to the window and saw her figure becoming smaller with every step she took into the distance. She was calling out for him. Calling to get him away from the palace. There was no reason he would not follow.

Somewhere in the misty sands they slowed their pace, ultimately standing right in front of each other. Ifrit knew something was wrong. His beloved showed an expression of utter grief and pain, bitter tears flowing down her marble face. As he opened up his arms wide she flung herself into the embrace, crying and crying as if there was no tomorrow. Alarmed he asked if everything was alright, what happened that she had risked to cross the borders. Shiva apologised with all her might, told him that she was sorry for what had happened to him, told him she was sorry for getting to close to him, that she was sorry to have decided his faith by letting her heart love him truly. Ifrit tightened his grip around her shoulders, her body trembling beneath his strong arms. He was still confused, did not know the reason for he to come but he assured, that he did not regret a single moment they had spent together. That he loved her deeply.

Then he heard Shiva whispering against his chest.

„Pyreburner. Thy heart of flame will turn to ash, yet painless and beautiful it shall be. This sin both you and me committed shall be my and only my own burden to bear. I love you truly my dearest Flame, but it was time I saved you from what they plan. Do not despise me, love but forgive me what I brought over you.“

A single tear ran from his eyes as the cold dagger pierced through his back right into his heart. He could not believe she would be the one to betray their bonds, to be the one punishing him for his committed sin. A look of wrath and despair was the last of him that Shiva saw, before the magic that had inhabited him, turned his body into a mountain of fire, alive and ferocious. She was lamenting and weeping at its feet, at the life she had destroyed, at the love she had lost. Yet she knew that his life was not the only one forsaken. None other punishment shall be executed and the sinner is not to be spared of it, not even by death, this is what the law declared. She had broken it, thus the remaining four would be coming after her, to bring her the punishment he had taken from Ifrit. In pain and distress the climbed the fire mountain right to the top, where she could see the simmering earth all red and swirling inside. „I will not leave you here my love. I shall follow you, for us to be reunited in eternity.“ With closed eyes and a swift and elegant move of her arms she plunged her dagger into her very own heart, breathing out her own light of life. Her body fell towards the lava, but before it could even reach it, it burst into splinters of ice and water.

„Now isn’t this a magnificent sight?“, a snickering, malicious voice was floating in the air. „You both did well, my little puppets. Now let us replay the tragedy again, yes?“

It was since that day, that once a year in winter, snow would fall onto the tops of mount Ravatogh, dissolving into thin air before even reaching the boiling heart of the mountain. Two lovers united in death yet parted through it, never to touch each other again. Only the longing gentle touch of the snow and the furious bite of the fire are reminiscent of what had happened in old days.

What happened to those six mighty peoples is a mystery untold. Yet, they had all been deceived by the hooded man, who was nothing other than evil itself. The day the Book of Cosmogony had been forged was the day, darkness had a grip of the forces, ruling this world. Even now it is not curious to find, the power of darkness has prevailed. Yet must we learn from this tale of ice and fire to not let our hearts be deceived by evil, to not be greedy or hostile.

And now it is your turn to tell your story. What was it that evil once promised you and which path did you select as the righteous to pursue?

[noiseartists]

BLANKENBERGE: The sound of infinite space from Russia

"Shoegaze itself is described generally as music with a large dream-like wall of sound. Something that feels like a cosmic wave of noise that you can ride and float along with, carrying you through nostalgia and memories of life both good and bad. It’s always felt like a dynamic balance between happiness and sadness. The group Blankenberge seems to have mastered this craft of striking those tonal emotions. Hailing from Russia, they have spread their sound throughout the airwaves of the world. It brims with so much life that it can’t help but traverse across the lands. Guitars shimmer and seem to sparkle like a star shooting out of the ocean, while vocals soar like a bird gliding between the cusps of clouds, and a solid beat that helps carry and keep the dream grounded into a direction nothing but beauty. Drawing from multiple sources of inspiration such as drone, ambient, and shoegaze, they seem to have perfectly melded all of them into one cohesive sound. Their EP Radiogaze, which was released in 2017, is one of the most endearing sonic journey’s that ones ear ultimately will seem destined to have heard. There is something that can be said about Radiogaze in terms of how pure it feels. Each track drips with a love for what is being reflected. The passion is undeniably audible and immediately pulls the listener in without a question. If there were ever a sound of music that makes me picture myself flying through a pink sky with a smile and tears flowing like a river of happiness, it would be Blankenberge’s. Blankenberge have solidified themselves into the scene immediately and have made it obvious that their future is bright, loud, and beautiful. It’s bands like this that are helping keep the scene alive in such brilliant and refreshing ways. As much as they wear their influence on their sleeves, their sound is carved into their own niche and gives them a shining light that is begging for the worlds eyes to see. Below you can read about how their recording process works and a little bit of background into who they are in this big old world. We’re lucky and honored to have them on Noise Artists. Do yourself a favor: lay down in bed, turn out the lights, put on Blankenberge’s Radiogaze, and maximize the volume. You will find yourself falling in love like when you were in high school for the first time. Also, I think they and Pinkshinyultrablast need to tour together, but that’s just my opinion. "  -- Corey Philpot - Outward

But Before anything else, a little taster:

BIOGRAPHY (by Peter Pires, Elusive Sound Records)

Blankenberge is a Shoegaze/Dream Pop band based in Saint Petersburg, Russian Federation. The band consisting of Yana Guselnikova (vocals), Daniil Levshin (guitar, synth), Dmitriy Marakov (bass), Daian Aiziatov (guitar) and Sergey Vorontsov (drums), came together in 2015 to create dream-weaving and warm reverb-drenched, drone raging songs that swell into soaring ethereal harmonies.

The story of Blankenberge started in early 2015 in Barnaul, a small city in the south of Siberia. Daniil and Yana having returned from an inspiring trip around Europe, started composing several songs with some local friends some of which were later released on their first EP. They decided to name their band Blankenberge, in honour of a little town on the North Sea coast of Belgium which had really impressed them.

That very same year, Daniil and Yana decided to move to Saint Petersburg in search of more opportunities to develop their music. They not only found a beautiful and inspiring city but also the other three members of the band – Dmitriy, Daian and Sergey – who would help them evolve and refine their sound. Blankenberge performed regularly in Saint Petersburg and released their first self-titled EP on 12 March, 2016. The EP’s free-formed post-rock compositions with intensely melodic passages, heavy droning and a pure shoegaze sound, immediately drew in very enthusiastic reviews from shoegaze blogs from all around the world.

In July 2016, they were involved in a cover project «The Cure in other voices» where they presented a dark and noisy shoegaze version of «Pictures of you». Shows in Saint Petersburg and Moscow followed and the band immediately started composing new songs. The writing and recording process would take another year and a half. After unveiling a first single “We” on 12 March, 2017, Blankenberge finally released their debut full-length album “Radiogaze” digitally on 30 June, 2017. The album instantly won over the ears of shoegaze listeners worldwide with Yana’s swooning, soft vocals serenely ascending and sweeping the skies, unveiling an afterglow, lacing emotion through a blazing, hazy swirl of loud droning guitars that swell and subside in an all-embracing ocean of sound.

On july 18, 2017, Blankenberge officially signed to Elusive Sound. “Blankenberge create warm reverb-drenched, drone-raging songs that swell into soaring ethereal harmonies. We are thrilled to announce that we will be releasing their wondrous full-length debut album “Radiogaze” on vinyl in 2018”.

On September 10, 2017, Blankenberge were invited to film and record Radiogaze Live in session at a converted Lutheran church called Melody Studio.

On March 14, 2018 Blankenberge announced a Spring Tour of 2018 which will see them play nine shows in nine different countries. The tour will kick off in their hometown of Saint-Petersburg and then cover most of Eastern Europe with an additional show in Vienna. This Spring Tour will end in Minsk on 20 April.

On April 10, 2019 the band released their sophomore album, ‘More’ a more gritty music, while staying into their pristine soundscapes.

In the summer 2019, they toured in Europe with one of Noise Artists’ favorite band, Life on Venus.

MUSIC WORK

Here are some of the songs we love to discover the band:

The band’s music work to date, released on the always tasteful Elusive Sound Records, is:

2016: Blankenberge, EP; Picture of you (Cure cover), single

2017: We, single; Radiogaze, LP

2019: Right now (single); More, LP

INTERVIEW

Where are you from? Where are you living now?

All our members come from different cities of Russia, but we all live now in St. Petersburg.

What did you study?

We all have technical educations. Only Yana has a music education.

What is your day job at present if any?

Daniil is an Engineer. Dima, Yana and Vova are working in programming and computers. Sergey works in the marketing sector.

Do you dream to live from your music or is it a passion you do not want to spend your full time on?

Daniil: I do music whenever I want and how much I want, and that's enough to make me happy.

Could you tell us more about your beginning?

Daniil: Our story began in 2015, when Yana and Daniil gathered a group in a small city in Siberia. After several months, the group moved to St. Petersburg and started again. Back in Barnaul, Yana and I recorded the demo songs “Seagulls” and “Feel alive” on iPAD and began searching for musicians in St. Petersburg.

Could you tell me how the band meet and decided to do music together?

Daniil: After moving to St. Petersburg in September 2015, I began searching for muses and quickly found guitarist Dayan and bass player Dima. We got to know each other around a common hobby: collecting guitar effects.

I met with Dayan at the concert of The Fall of Troy.

We held the first rehearsal in an old wagon. I did not know the city and therefore I found only this shady rehearsal place. As I remember, it was very cold and rainwater was dripping from the ceiling. But we had a good time. After the rehearsal, we did not want to pay as it was so bad.

The first time we played with electronic drums, as it was difficult to find a drummer. But about a month, we managed to find Sergey. This is a great step for us.

I had material for EP and we began to prepare for the record.

Sergey: When Danya invited me to the project, I first answered that I already have several bands. But then I listened to the recordings that he sent me, and thought it was good music and agreed to join.

Can you tell me the inspiration behind your band? You can detect the influences of shoegaze and indie rock. You took all these influences to make your own music, your own sound, which is not easy. Could you tell more?

I was influenced a lot by the Post-Rock scene from 1997 to 2005 with bands like Mogwai, This will destroy you, Sigur Ros and many others. I always liked the noise component and the approach to the structure of tracks and melodies. Later I got acquainted with Shoegaze and bands like MBV. I also discovered ambient and drone bands such as Nadja, Angellic Process, Star of the Lid. I liked to find melodies in the noise of the guitar that actually aren't necesarily there. These melodies were created by distortions. And I realized that this is what I wanted to do. I wanted to create musical canvases out of noise.

I composed the first track of Seagulls inspired by listening to EP Jesu - Silver.

Was there a vision of sorts or did you know what you wanted to do when you started up?

Daniil: Yes, there was a vision. Without it, it is difficult to start working on the tracks. But sometimes it turns out differently that what was planned.

I tried to compose energetic Dream Pop, but I always got only post-rock :-D

Do you have any other musical side projects apart from this band?

Daniil: I had several projects that I have abandoned. Currently Blankenberge is my main project. But I also have the project to put together a minimal duet with Vova. We play 40 minutes tracks over a drum machine.

Dima: In addition to Blankenberge, I play in a project called "Knight of Wild Apples". The genre is something between Twee Pop and Post-Punk.

Could you tell me more on the band composition? Do you have plans to add new members, or is there possible departure scheduled from existing band members?

Yana: This year our line-up has changed. Dayan, our guitarist moved to another country and we were forced to look for another guitarist. Our good friend,Vladimir Luchansky, joined us.

Daniil: We have known him for a long time as he is also from Siberia. He performed with us in Barnaul and Novosibirsk. He is a multi-instrumentalist and it is possible that new instruments will be in our new album.

I am not a fan of changing the group. Several years ago I played in a band where we had 17 bass players! This is very bad for the morale. And in the end, we froze the project. It was my main group at that time. Soon after I created Blankenberge.

Can you tell us more how you came to have the band’s name?

Yana: We don't like to make up names. We thought on how to name the group. The first option was Blankenberge, as it was a place we have very warm memories of, and then they tried to find something else without success . But in the end came back to this name.

Daniil: Some options were «Youth.Loud», «Spring Youth». But I thought that it was too snobbish. Blankenberge really makes our heart beat harder.

Who writes the song and the music and how do you get to the final song? Is it a community process, do you have leaders in composing or arranging music?

Daniil: I write most of the music at home improvising or during rehearsals. Often we record the improvisations on a dictaphone, and then I listen at home everything we played. I build on some parts, I cut some out or can add it. back later in a rehearsal. Everyone also add something of their own it turns into a new track!

Do you listen to the advice of your band mates? What would you do if they said a song was shit but you liked it?

Daniil: Yes, we are discussing the tracks. But I do not remember any songs that someone would strongly dislike. There was a track, ‘Out Loud’, that Yana didn’t like, but we managed to make it attractive.

Talking about the lyrics: who write them? Is there a common thread in them, a theme?

Daniil: All lyrics and vocal melodies are written by Yana. Yana can turn lifeless music into a live and aerial song. Often, after a vocal melody is created, something new appears in the music.

Yana: Texts about nature, dreams and freedom. I am very inspired by nature.

Do you have a message that you want to get across in your music? If so, what are some of the messages you want to spread?

Yana: No, we only create sounds.

Daniil: I don’t try to convey an idea through music. The best music will help convey someone else's idea, for example, as just a soundtrack. The only common idea in my music that I can think of is love. If I listen to my track and feel love, that means the track is ready. Love for everything, like Bolkonsky in ‘War and Peace’.

How is your recognition going in the US and Abroad? Is it growing? Are you happy with it?

Yana: We are very happy to have listeners all over the world. It really means a lot to us.

Daniil: When I go to the post office to send tapes or discs to another country - it is like a holiday for me. For me, this is still a fantastic story. I imagine how someone, for example, in New Zealand, picks up a package from the box office, and our music creates vibrations there - this is wonderful!.

Is it easy to find producers and studios where you lived for indie-rock?

Is it about Barnaul? There are several studios in Barnaul and there is no need to choose, just go and record in any, because nowhere better to do it.

In St. Petersburg, a lot of studios and the choice was difficult. But for RadioGaze, we quickly chose the studio Melody, because we had heard about it before and were impressed by its halls.

Your recorded sound is very good, which is not easy. Did you engineer the sound yourself, or did you have a sound engineer with you? If yes could you tell us more about him/her?

We do not have a sound engineer. Usually we ask for help in recording with people those recommended by our friends.

On the last album we worked with Mikhail Kurochkin - the recording and the mixing will remain with him, we unconditionally trust him with this process. Misha listened to all our previous works and also loves noisy music (even louder than ours), so the recording process goes very fast with him. He doesn't need to be explained anything, he knows everything.

We also had the pleasure worked with Vladimir Nosyrev, who previously did some work with Pinkshauliultrablast. Vladimir has a lot of experience recording musicians of various levels. When we were recording at his studio, we felt like we were on Ebi Road.

Daniil: I was completely easygoing about the quality of the recording. For me, the main task was to get the sound I needed from the guitar dynamics.

Was it a community work to try to have the best sounding music possible or mainly driven by the sound engineer or by the band?

During the recording, Vladimir Nosyrev was completely in charge of the recording process, and I can say that I really liked it. He did the feedback for all the guitar speakers.

Can you tell us how the recording process was?

The process of recording Radiogaze was quite complicated and lengthy. We started recording the album in November 2016. We recorded drums for half the tracks.

Then the process slowed down due to personal problems. We went back recording after the new year, in January.

In February I had to leave for work in Moscow and the recording process stopped again. When I returned to St. Petersburg, we had big sessions. Then I left again, and there was a other pause in the record. We managed to record all the material only in April.

Then there was a very difficult stage of mixing. Every evening for two months I listened to the results of the recording. Overall, the recording of the album was very difficult. But I was pleased with the result.

Dima: We unfortunately do not have any cool stories related to the recording of the album. Everything was pretty standard. At the studio where we recorded, there was a good guitar and bass equipment, but the guys still dragged something of their own and this is very cool.

Could you let us know some important technical tricks you learnt during the process that could help other musicians not as experienced?

I am not an expert in this matter, but I discovered some things.

There is not too much reverb, delay, fuzz, or length on some part, and it is never too loud or quiet. If the heart requires you to make it louder or something, then you need to do it and not think about anything else.

If there is a track ready and you can hear that there is a place in which it seems to be possible to do better, no need to redo it. It is better to write a new track in which there will be a similar place, which will be changed, as needed. If you go back on the past all the time, development stops. You need to see the finished result to move on.

Any interesting anecdotes on some recording session you would like to share?

Dayan: Several times, when we recorded a song, we accidentally turned on two rovers simultaneously - Cosmos and the Big Sky. We did not immediately notice that something was wrong. In the end, a few doubles recorded with a huge amount of reverb. We liked it and in some places we left these doubles.

Did getting the live experience across on record create any pressure for your selves in the recording process?

Each new concert gives us more of experience.

Instruments: are you mainly a Fender band? Could you tell me what inspire you to use fenders rather than other brands?

Dima: I have four basses at the moment. It is not necessary, but this is kind of my hobby.

Oddly enough, but for the records, I dreamed about the Rickenbacker 4003 sound for a very long time and this was my first serious bass,. I went on tour with the Fender AVRI 62 Jazz Bass, for several reasons. It is lighter, it is less whimsical in maintenance, and it always fits perfectly into the mix, so we could really be called the "Fender band", considering that Daniil played on the Fender Telecaster, and Dayan on the Fender Jazzmaster Thurston Moore. Now it's completely different, I play with a Gibson RD Artist bass, and Daniil got himself a Gibson Midtown Custom, so now we have a little Gibson band.

Daniil: For a long time I played on the television broadcaster, which my great-grandmother gave me. I will never part with it. Now I got a Gibson Midtown bush and I, too, am satisfied.

A question for a future paper I have in mind: if you use often a Fender Jaguar, could you tell me more about what makes it good to play (sound, neck, …). I find there are lot of noise artists that are using this guitar and I am interested to know why.

Dima: I was the owner of the Fender AVRI 62 Jaguar for a long time and I can say that it was a lead guitar. First of all, I would like to say that the Jaguar / Jazzmaster Floating tremolo is the best tremolo that you could think of. Yes, it is capricious for setting, but it performs its function with 10/10. The Jaguar is very convenient due to its size 24.75 and I am madly in love with its sound, especially on some pickup setupa.

Daniil: I once had a Japanese Jaguar. It was one of the best guitars.

Do you have one favorite instrument or do you change often?

Dima: I do not have a favorite instrument. All the instruments that I have at this moment are cool in their own way, I can not give someone preference. This is both bad and good at the same time.

Daniil: Telecaster is my favorite tool. Was, is and will be.

Tell us what you are looking when trying to achieve your sounds? Do you experiment a lot or have a clear idea of what you want?

As I said, I love to create canvases of sounds. I like to keep rehearsals on a recorder. My voice recorder has a sound of poor quality and basically I hear only noise. But this noise helps me create tracks. Also, often I hear sounds on the street or in the subway from the ambient noise that give me ideas for a new track.

Who is the more knowledgeable with pedals? You use them a lot, to great effect.

Dima: I'm even afraid to imagine how many pedals we had through the years. Dayan one time led the list, I remember that the count has long passed for 100, then I no longer followed this list. Daney and I met, exchanging pedals. As I remember, we exchanged the Boss RE-20 with a Supa Puss.

Daniil: we all love new devices. But I have the same pedals - the boss dd20 and bigskay.

How many concerts a year would you do on average and what would be the size of the venue?

Last year we gave a few concerts. The spring tour was a serious test for us, and we did loads of performances.

Daniil: Each performance is a release of energy and often I experience a lot of stress, after which the body requires recovery. Therefore, now we are planning concerts only if we have prepared new material and want to show it to the audience.

Would you mind sharing some good anecdotes from your concerts/touring?

Dima: One case comes to mind, it was at a concert in Vienna. We played with very cool guys from the Snow Crystal band. And here in the dressing room one guy talked to me, already quite cheerfully, because we had a beer fridge in the dressing room and asked: "Dmitry, what style do you play?"

Of course, I quite seriously answer him: “We are playing Shoegaze".

And here he is: "Uuuuuuuu, is it not supposed to be such garbage?"

I knew from his expression that it was necessary to find an easier description.

And I say: "Rock, we play Rock!".

He immediately rejoiced, patted me on the shoulder and said: "Daaaaaa, Dmitry rock is cool. ROCK!"

Then we often recalled this funny story with the band, parodying that guy a little.

What are some places around the world that you hope to take your band? Do you have any plans at present to tour in other countries?

Dima: I dream to go and play in Japan one day.

Daniil: I dream to perform in Iceland.

Is there any reason in particular that you want to go to these places? Is there something about dream pop/shoegaze in those places that makes you want to go there?

Dima: First of all, I am very attracted to the culture of Japan and its dissimilarity to everything that we are used to in Russia or Europe.

Daniil: Iceland was for me one of the inspiring countries. Our music is inspired by the Northern seas and the atmosphere of the North inspires me.

Russian Shoegazing is not very well known internationally. Could you tell us more about it?

Dima: In Russia, this genre is not very popular, although now more and more musicians try Shoegaze and I must say quite successfully.

Of course, everyone knows Pinkshinyultrablast and Aerofall. Besides them, there are still a lot of cool bands, of my favorites, probably Life on Venus and My friends Polymers (Editor’s: our favourtie too with Blankenberge. See our collaborations with the bands in the links and also our Russian Shoegaze, Dream & Noise pop guide volume 1 and volume 2).

Is it easy for a Russian indie bands to be known internationally? Do you have any example?

Dima: I think that now with this as it is easier. Streaming platforms, Spotify, etc., which make selections based on your tastes, are very developed. I used to use LastFM a lot to find out about some unknown groups that are similar to my current idols.

Although the persistence and hard work for becoming famous is the equally true for a band from any country.

From the example I do not think that Pinkshinyultrablast, woke up one day already famous.

Has the scene changed since you began, and if so how?

Dima: Yes, it has changed and definitely for the better. I like that now we have no problems with the fact that a new band can make their first concert easily, I think this is very important in order not to lose heart and not spend all their time in rehearsals playing by ourselves.

What is the next album due?

In the new album, we tried to do what we didn’t have time to do in Radiogaze, developed things that we wanted to do before.

Any other project (ie movies soundtrack, …) or plans

Dima: I play the Twee Pop / Post-Punk project “Knight of the Wild Apples”, these are simple, kind and naive songs.

Do you plan to continue music for a long time or are you tired of it?

We plan to continue the music while there are ideas. In any case, we can always play music in the form of pedal trading and become sofa musicians: D

THE BAND IN THE (SOCIAL) MEDIA

Some good videos

There some nice video on the web in addition the one posted on the band’s YouTube Channel.

First from the Radiogaze session (on their channel). It was recorded and filmed in a large empty classic building. It is a perfect fit with their sound, vast and pristine. There are other songs from the same session on YouTube.

A 30 minutes live session

From their 2019 summer tour

And an outdoor acoustic session

Where to find their music

Bandcamp

Elusive Sound Records

Spotify

Their social media:

Facebook

Instagram

VK

OUTRO

A big thank you to Corey Philpot from Outward (Somewherecold Records) for the interview and Peter from Elusive Sound Records for his help all the way. And of course a million thank you to the band for their kindness confidence and patience.

[topworldhistory]

In March 1930, Mahatma Gandhi and his followers set off on a brisk 241-mile march to the Arabian Sea town of Dandi to lay Indian claim to the nation's own salt.

Since the late-1910s, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi had been at the forefront of India’s quest to shake off the yoke of British colonial domination, otherwise known as the “Raj.” The thin and abstemious former lawyer had led civil disobedience against colonial policies, encouraged Indians to boycott British goods, and had served two years in prison on charges of sedition. 

Gandhi’s philosophy of “satyagraha,” which sought to reveal truth and confront injustice through nonviolence, had made him the most polarizing figure on the subcontinent. While the British regarded him with suspicion, Indians had begun calling him “Mahatma,” or “great-souled.”

When the Indian National Congress redoubled its efforts for independence in January 1930, many assumed Gandhi would stage his most ambitious satyagraha campaign to date. Yet rather than launching a frontal assault on more high profile injustices, Gandhi proposed to frame his protest around salt. 

As with many other commodities, Britain had kept India’s salt trade under its thumb since the 19th century, forbidding natives from manufacturing or selling the mineral and forcing them to buy it at high cost from British merchants. Since salt was a nutritional necessity in India’s steamy climate, Gandhi saw the salt laws as an inexcusable evil.

Many of Gandhi’s comrades were initially skeptical. “We were bewildered and could not fit in a national struggle with common salt,” remembered Jawaharlal Nehru, later India’s first prime minister. Another colleague compared the proposed protest to striking a “fly” with a “sledgehammer.” Yet for Gandhi, the salt monopoly was a stark example of the ways the Raj unfairly imposed Britain’s will on even the most basic aspects of Indian life. Its effects cut across religious and class differences, harming both Hindus and Muslims, rich and poor. 

On March 2, he penned a letter to British Viceroy Lord Irwin and made a series of requests, among them the repeal of the salt tax. If ignored, he promised to launch a satyagraha campaign. “My ambition,” he wrote, “is no less than to convert the British people through nonviolence and thus make them see the wrong they have done to India.”

Irwin offered no formal response, and at dawn on March 12, 1930, Gandhi put his plan into action. Clad in a homespun shawl and sandals and holding a wooden walking stick, he set off on foot from his ashram near Ahmedabad with several dozen companions and began an overland trek to the Arabian Sea town of Dandi. There, he planned to defy the salt tax by illegally harvesting the mineral from the beachside. The 60-year-old expected to be arrested or even beaten during the journey, but the British feared a public backlash and elected not to quash the march.

With Gandhi setting a brisk pace at its head, the column crossed the countryside at a rate of roughly 12 miles per day. Gandhi paused at dozens of villages along the route to address the masses and condemn both the Raj and the salt tax. He also encouraged government workers to embrace his philosophy of noncooperation by quitting their jobs. “What is government service worth, after all?” he asked during a stop at the city of Nadiad. “A government job gives you the power to tyrannize over others.”

As Gandhi and his followers inched toward the western coastline, thousands of Indians joined their ranks, transforming the small cadre of protestors into a miles-long procession. The New York Times and other media outlets began following the walk’s progress, quoting Gandhi as he denounced the salt tax as “monstrous” and chided the British for “being ashamed to arrest me.” 

In addition to lambasting the Raj, Gandhi also used his speeches to lecture on the injustices of the Indian caste system, which labeled the lowest classes “untouchable” and deprived them of certain rights. Gandhi stunned onlookers by bathing at an “untouchable” well at the village of Dabhan, and during another stop in Gajera, he refused to begin his speech until the untouchables were allowed to sit with the rest of the audience.

Gandhi and his party finally arrived at Dandi on April 5, having walked 241 miles in the span of just 24 days. The following morning, thousands of journalists and supporters gathered to watch him commit his symbolic crime. After immersing himself in the sparkling waters of the Arabian Sea, he walked ashore where the beach’s rich salt deposits rested. British officials had reportedly ground the salt into the sand in the hope of frustrating Gandhi’s efforts, but he easily found a lump of salt-rich mud and held it aloft in triumph. “With this,” he announced, “I am shaking the foundations of the British Empire.”

Gandhi’s transgression served as a signal for other Indians to join in what had become known as the “Salt Satyagraha.” Over the next several weeks, supporters across the subcontinent flocked to the seaside to illegally harvest the mineral. Women took on a crucial role. Many boiled water to make salt, and others sold illicit salt in city markets or led pickets in front of liquor and foreign cloth shops. “It seemed as though a spring had suddenly been released,” Nehru later said. Some 80,000 people were arrested in the spree of civil disobedience, and many were beaten by police.

Gandhi was taken into custody on May 5, after he announced his intention to lead a peaceful raid on a government salt works at Dharasana. But even with their leader behind bars, his followers pressed on. On May 21, some 2,500 marchers ignored warnings from police and made an unarmed advance on the Dharasana depot. 

American journalist Webb Miller was on the scene, and he later described what followed. “Suddenly,” he wrote, “at a word of command, scores of native police rushed upon the advancing marchers and rained blows on their heads…Not one of the marchers even raised an arm to fend off the blows. They went down like ten-pins.” 

Miller’s harrowing account of the beatings circulated widely in the international media, and was even read aloud in the U.S. Congress. Winston Churchill—no great fan of Gandhi—would later admit that the protests and their aftermath had “inflicted such humiliation and defiance as has not been known since the British first trod the soil of India.”

Gandhi remained in lockup until early 1931, but he emerged from prison more revered than ever before. Time magazine named him its 1930 “Man of the Year,” and newspapers around the globe jumped at any opportunity to quote him or report on his exploits. British Viceroy Lord Irwin finally agreed to negotiate with him, and in March 1931, the two hammered out the Gandhi-Irwin Pact, which ended the satyagraha in exchange for several concessions including the release of thousands of political prisoners. While the agreement largely maintained the Raj’s monopoly over salt, it gave Indians living on the coasts the right to produce the mineral from the sea.

Difficult days still lay ahead. Gandhi and his supporters would launch more protests in the 1930s and 40s and endure even more stints behind bars, and Indian independence would have to wait until 1947—only months before Gandhi was shot dead by a militant Hindu. 

But while the immediate political results of the Salt March were relatively minor, Gandhi’s satyagraha had nevertheless succeeded in his goal of “shaking the foundations of the British Empire.” The trek to the sea had galvanized Indian resistance to the Raj, and its international coverage had introduced the world to Gandhi and his followers’ astonishing commitment to nonviolence. 

Among others, Martin Luther King, Jr. would later cite the Salt March as a crucial influence on his own philosophy of civil disobedience. Gandhi had sent a simple message by grasping a handful of salt on the beach at Dandi, and millions had answered his call.

READ MORE: How Martin Luther King Jr. Took Inspiration From Gandhi on Nonviolence

from Stories - HISTORY https://ift.tt/2orj40b October 02, 2019 at 06:45PM